Then I pushed the door open.
Both of them jumped.
Jake was half-reclined on the bed, shirtless. The woman stood beside him with her hands raised.
“Are you serious?” I shouted.
Jake turned pale. “Mara—”
“Don’t,” I snapped.
I looked at the woman. “Get out of my house.”
She didn’t leave. Instead, she picked something up from the bed and held it toward me.
“Please lower your voice,” she said calmly.
In her hands were medical braces. Then she pulled out a folder full of exercise plans and treatment notes.
“My name is Lena,” she said. “I’m a rehabilitation specialist.”
I turned to Jake in disbelief. “You secretly brought a therapist into our bedroom while pretending to be paralyzed in front of your wife?”
Jake rubbed his face. “Please calm down.”
“Calm down?” I said. “You’ve completely lost your mind.”
Lena looked both embarrassed and frustrated.
“He should have told you months ago,” she said.
“Months?” I repeated.
Jake sighed heavily. “Mara, please sit down.”
“No,” I said. “Start explaining.”
Lena finally spoke.
“He started seeing me last year,” she said. “A new scan showed that the damage from his accident wasn’t complete. There was a chance he could regain partial movement with intensive therapy.”
Jake added quickly, “I wasn’t faking for twenty years. I really was disabled.”
