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shoulder, he says, “I love you, Bre. I’m the luckiest man in the world. Do you know how beautiful you are?”
    I take a deep breath in and silently blow it out. A few more tears slide down my cheeks, soaking my pillow. I can’t respond when I don’t feel those same things. I drift off, praying I can sleep peacefully.
    Waking from another dream, my breathing is hard and shallow as my eyes flutter open.
    Caston’s hot body is still wrapped around me. I could tell by his even breathing that he was still asleep even though my body jolted awake. I move his arm off, gently sliding my body to the edge of the bed. Pausing briefly as I swing my legs over, I look back over my shoulder at the sleeping man who loves me unconditionally.
    I feel my chest start to tighten, and I know a panic attack is coming on. Not wanting to break down in front of him again, I grab my crutches and get myself into the bathroom before I begin sobbing. Resting my back on the closed door, I slide down to the floor, hanging my head between my knees. I’m crying so hard I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. My heart hurts, and my whole body is tense.
    I need to focus on the good. I need to remember back to happy times. Looking down at my engagement ring, I twirl it around my finger, and my chest slowly starts to relax. Love, our love, will get me through this. He’s being so strong for me. I need to be strong for him. We’ve both been handed some big bombshells. Life has a funny way of doing that when you thought you had it all figured out. We both vowed to each other we won’t give up, and I have to believe we’ll make it through.
    Picking myself up, I hobble over to the sinks. I splash some cold water on my face and look at the reflection in the mirror. It’s amazing how someone can look normal on the outside when they’re torn to pieces on the inside. From the waist up I’m like I always was, but now from the waist down I’m deformed. The bullet from Beverly’s gun did a number on my leg, ripping it to shreds. The doctors don’t think I’ll be able to dance again. I can’t accept that. Therapy has been going well. It’s tedious, but I know it’s the only way to actually help my leg. Shaking my head, I keep my head held high. I can’t let this define me. Step by step I will get my abilities back.
    Hobbling out to the balcony, I settle down on a lounge chair and raise my legs up onto the ottoman. The warm, clear night lets me breathe easily. Leaning my head back, I stare at the moon and fall asleep again.
    I wake up to the sun warming my face. I have a soft knitted blanket placed over me, and I know that Caston has been up looking for me. This has become second nature lately. It’s been two months since I was in the hospital and a little over three months since the shooting, but I still can’t seem to shake the dreams that haunt my sleep and the panic attacks that plague my waking hours.
    Stretching to wake my tight muscles, I glance over at the door to our room. Seeing it’s open, I take a deep breath to steel myself before I face another day. The cleansing breath wakes my senses with the smell of the soap from Caston’s shower wafting out on the morning breeze.
    Snapping out of my day dream, I swipe away the tears falling down my cheeks. Damn these things never seem to quit. Not wanting Caston to see me crying, again, I get up. He’d placed my crutches next to me, since I left them in the bathroom. My doctor said I shouldn’t use the crutches and I should actually work on using on my leg, but it still feels wrong and stiff. Plus, I get around a lot faster with them. Making my way through the room, I’m out the door and heading for the stairs before Caston comes out of the bathroom.
    We only moved back up here a few weeks ago. We’d been staying in a spare room on the first floor, so I didn’t have to climb the stairs with my crutches. It wasn’t right, though. Yes, I was home and with Caston, but we weren’t in our room, in