Page 2 of A Touch of Fate

I frowned. Wasn’t he in the hospital? I tried to remember, but my memories were murky.

Danilo touched my shoulder. I saw his fingertips resting against my shoulder, but the touch was distant as if the hospital gown was heavily padded.

I looked back up into his worried face.

“You were in a car accident. Do you remember?”

My brows puckered. I was at school…then I went home…no. I went to my dance. My biggest role so far. The dance went great. My bodyguard had taken me home because Mom had been in the hospital with Dad for his cancer surgery… and Danilo had to leave my play early.

I blinked at Danilo, confused. Then I glanced at Dad.

Mom had gone over to the window and was looking outside.

“You’ve been in a coma for a couple of weeks.”

“I can’t feel my body.”

Dad closed his eyes, pinching the top of his nose.

Danilo sat on the chair that Mom had occupied before. He took my hand, but he didn’t immediately start talking. When he did, his voice cracked several times. “You had to be cut out of the car, Emma. It was really bad. You suffered some damage to your spinal cord.”

“Can I dance again?” I asked. I wasn’t even sure why it was the first thing I asked. I’d sometimes wanted to quit dancing because our teacher was never happy with me, but now, the idea of quitting ripped a hole in my chest.

Danilo shook his head. “No.”

“Nothing’s set in stone,” Mom said quickly.

Danilo shook his head. “It’s unlikely she’ll regain control of her legs again. Don’t give her false hope, Mom.”

False hope?

I tried to move my legs, tried to feel them, anything below my chest, and when I couldn’t, panic set in again.

Danilo’s grip on my hand tightened. “Emma, we’re here for you. You’re not alone. We’ll always take care of you.”

I closed my eyes. If I could have moved my hands, I would have covered my ears too. I didn’t want to hear or see any more. I didn’t even want to think. I just wanted to wake up from this nightmare and feel normal again.

11 years old

I never walked without support again.

Things got better, though. Like Danilo had promised.

Within the first week of waking from my coma, I was able to move my arms, and the feeling returned to the upper part of my body. My arms felt weaker than before, but the doctors assured me they would regain their previous strength with training and as my body healed from the accident and surgeries. My lower body didn’t recover the same way, no matter how much I wanted it to and how much Mom prayed. She always told me that it was temporary, and I believed her. I needed to believe her.

Once I felt strong enough, Danilo and a nurse helped me into a wheelchair. Mom started crying when she saw me in it and left the room with a muttered excuse. I peered up at my brother, who held on to the handles, his expression like stone. His eyesmet mine, and he gave me a tight smile. “I don’t want to be in a wheelchair, Danilo. I want to walk like I used to. I will walk again, right?”

Danilo stared at me for a long time, a muscle in his jaw twitching, the only movement in his otherwise frozen face. The nurse glanced between him and me, her brows pulling together. She touched my arm, and I looked into her kind blue eyes. “I know this is a lot to take in, Emma. And it’s a little scary, but a wheelchair isn’t your enemy. It’ll help you go wherever you want. There are wheelchairs for every activity. They are lightweight and agile. You can play sports with them and do a quick U-turn. You will be faster than your brother if you get the right wheelchair. And if you prefer more support, you can even get an electric wheelchair. Then you can steer it with a single finger. Isn’t that cool?”

I knew she was trying to cheer me up, to make my situation seem less daunting, but I didn’t want to know anything about wheelchairs. I wanted my legs to carry me wherever I needed to go. She squeezed my shoulder with a compassionate smile. “Once your arms are a little stronger, I’ll bring you one of our lightest wheelchairs so you can get used to it, okay?”

I gave a tiny nod. The moment she was out of the room, I sent my brother a pleading look. “I don’t want to get used to a wheelchair, Danilo. I want my legs. Please.”

Danilo walked around the chair and got on his haunches before me. He took my hands in his. “I’ll do everything I can, Emma, to help you. I’ll look for therapies and doctors worldwide who can help you, but I want you prepared. I want you to learn how to use a wheelchair, and I’ll buy you the best wheelchairs until you find one you like.”

I looked away from him. Why couldn’t he lie like Mom did? Why couldn’t he say that I would one day walk again?

I had trouble maneuvering the wheels. They seemed stuck. My fingers ached from trying to move them. This wheelchair wasn’t easy to steer. It wasn’t lightweight. “It doesn’t work!”

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