Page 2

“Mrs. Browne, when your husband wakes up, there is a possibility that he may experience weakness or loss of function in his lower extremities.”

I frowned. My brain heard him, but it refused to process what he was saying.

“His lower extremities?”

“His legs,” MJ said quietly.

I turned my head toward my son. His face had changed. All the relief that had been there seconds ago was gone. I looked back at the doctor.

“Are you saying my husband is paralyzed?”

I asked the question so loudly that I was damn near yelling. As soon as the words left my mouth, I heard Maliah behind me cry out. She could be so damn dramatic at times. The doctor looked over my shoulder in her direction before answering my question.

“I’m saying it’s too early for us to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

“But you just said—” I started, until he cut me off.

“I said there is a possibility that he could have difficulty moving his legs when he wakes up. The swelling makes it impossible for us to determine right now whether any loss of function will be temporary or long-term.”

My breathing became heavier.

“So, he might not be able to walk?”

“That is a possibility.”

My hand flew to my mouth.

“Ma?”

MJ reached for me, but I stepped away from him. My eyes filled with tears again as I shook my head. Malik had been fine when he left home. That was the part my mind couldn’t get past. He kissed me and then kissed my belly like he always does when he leaves the house. The day was regular, oh so regular, until it wasn’t. One minute, my husband had been living his life, moving around like he always did, and then my phone rang. Now I was standing in a hospital waiting room, being told that when he opened his eyes, he might not be able to move his legs.

It didn’t make sense. None of this shit made sense.

“Will he ever be able to walk again?” I asked.

I could tell that I was frustrating the doctor by the slight dip in his brow when I asked, but I didn’t give a shit. I needed something to hold onto. And knowing that he was alive should have been enough, but I knew my husband. If he was never going to be able to do things for himself again, then he would rather be damn dead. The doctor sighed before offering me a response.

“We simply don’t know yet.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” I snapped. I wanted a simple yes or no answer. And deep down I knew he couldn’t give me that shit. Here I was being one of the family members he probably hated most.

“Ma,” MJ said softly.

I ignored him. At this point I was being ignorant. I needed this man to tell me that Malik was going to open his eyes, get out of that hospital bed, and walk his ass across the room to me. It was unreasonable to demand a direct answer from him, but I just couldn’t help myself.

“Will my husband walk again?”

The doctor looked directly into my eyes.

“There is reason to remain hopeful.”

Hopeful. I hated that fucking word. Hopeful wasn’t yes. Hopeful wasn’t a promise. Hopeful was what people told you when they didn’t know what else to say.

“What happens if he can’t?” MJ asked.

I was the one panicking, and my son beside me was the only one with some logic in this situation. The doctor turned his attention toward him.

“If Malik has limited function once the swelling begins to decrease, we’ll bring in neurology, physical therapy, and rehabilitation specialists. Depending on his condition, he could need extensive therapy.”