Page 97 of Salute, To Bravery
Rei glances around with a smirk. “Yeah, it’s like they went overboard with the whole ‘peaceful retreat’ vibe. I’m half-expecting a monk to hand us cucumber water and tell us to ‘find our inner peace.’”
I laugh, nodding in agreement. “Honestly, at this point, I could use a little peace. Or maybe just a nap. Spa day or not, I’m exhausted.”
We step up to the reception desk, where the staff greets us with warm smiles, hands us fluffy robes and slippers, and shows us into our private relaxation room.
As we change into our robes, I catch Rei’s eyes and, for the first time all day, I let out a quiet sigh. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Rei. Craig’s trying to be better, but he’s just… avoiding me. All he does is work out, go to therapy, and talk to everyone except me. I don’t know how to get through to him.”
Rei listens silently as we walk back into the spa’s main area. After a beat, she turns to me, her expression softening. “I get it. And I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through, Jane. But Craig’s got a lot on his plate, you know? He’s drowning in guilt. And I get why he’s shutting people out… including you. But that’s just him trying to protect you, even if it’s the wrong way.”
I let her words sink in as we sit in a lounge area, sipping our water and starting to relax. Rei leans back in her chair,eyes thoughtful. “Look, he’s never been good at sharing the hard stuff, has he? Even when we were younger, he bottled everything up. And I think… I think he just doesn’t want you to see him like this.”
I nod slowly. “I know. But I’m his wife, Rei. I want to be there for him, for everything. But lately…”
Rei sighs, her fingers tapping lightly against the table. “I hear you. I really do. But, I think he’s scared. Scared that if he lets you in, you’ll see how broken he really is.”
I meet her gaze. “And what about me? I’m scared too, Rei. I’m scared of losing him.”
Her eyes soften. “I know you are. But you’ve got to remember—he loves you more than anything. He just… doesn’t know how to show it right now.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I say, my voice trembling a little. “Honestly, I feel like I’m on the edge, and you’re the only one who sees it.”
Rei reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You’ve got this. We’ve got this. And you’ve got me, even when Craig’s not sure how to reach out.”
I smile weakly, but it’s genuine. “I don’t even know what the future looks like anymore. It’s like everything’s… up in the air.”
“Take it one step at a time,” she suggests with a reassuring nod. “Look at us right now. We’re here. We’re doing something for ourselves. Maybe that’s the first step.”
I nod, the weight of it all still there but somehow a little lighter. “I just wish Craig could see that I’m here for him. I’m here for everything, even the hard parts. He doesn’t have to do this alone.”
“I know. He’ll get there,” she says quietly. “Just… let him come to you when he’s ready. Don’t force him to open up. You know how stubborn he is.”
I can’t help but laugh softly at the truth in her words. “Oh, I know. I married him.”
Rei grins and leans back in her chair. “Well, if we’re being honest, it’s kind of your fault for picking the brooding, emotionally unavailable type.”
I roll my eyes, chuckling despite myself. “Shut up.”
“Hey, I’m just saying. I can’t believe you didn’t see it sooner,” Rei teases, clearly lightening the mood. “But now you’re stuck with him.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I reply with a grin. “Even if he is a pain in the ass.”
Rei chuckles. “You’ve always had a soft spot for those, haven’t you?”
I smile, feeling a little lighter now. “I guess so.”
With that, the conversation shifts, and for the first time in a while, I feel like I’m not so alone in this. We’re two women trying to navigate the messiness of love, loss, and everything in between. And right now, I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side.
Chapter Nine.
Craig
After weeks of healing—both physically and emotionally—I’m finally at the point where I can begin the next phase of recovery: getting fitted for prosthetics.
The scars from surgery have faded to faint pink lines, soft against the mottled surface of my skin. The pain, though still present, comes in manageable twinges now—more like a low hum than a sharp stab. A distant echo of everything I’ve lost. It’s strange, the way your body adjusts to absence. Like it rewrites its own definition of normal.
I told Jane it was just another physical therapy session. Nothing special. She booked a spa day with my sister—mud masks, scalp massages, herbal tea. I told her to go. Told her I’d be fine. And I will be. I think.
Still, my palms sweat as I wheel myself into the waiting room of the prosthetics clinic, trying not to let my nerves show. I check in at the front desk and find a seat near the window, where sunlight spills across the tile in long golden strips.
