A month earlier, I would have considered them humiliating.
Now I understood something my younger self would have hated.
Accepting help was not the same as surrendering authority.
Sometimes it was how authority survived.
When court adjourned, the reporters surged toward the hallway.
Rachel prepared me for questions.
I shook my head.
“No press conference.”
Daniel looked surprised.
“You’ve never refused a microphone in your life.”
“I’m growing.”
“Apparently.”
Vanessa laughed.
We escaped through a side exit.
Outside, Manhattan moved on without caring that my life had nearly changed inside a stone building.
Taxis honked.
A delivery cyclist argued with a driver.
A man sold coffee from a cart.
The sky was bright after several days of rain.
Daniel walked beside my wheelchair.
For half a block, neither of us spoke.
Then he stopped.
“I owe you an apology.”
I looked up.
“One?”
He almost smiled.
“Several.”
“Start with the expensive ones.”
