A House That Became a Prison
By the second year, Miles had settled into a routine that looked like control but felt like surrender.
He moved himself from room to room with the practiced ease of someone afraid of breaking again. His days revolved around physical therapy sessions and quiet meals he barely touched. He watched sunlight crawl across the floor, as if mocking him for still being able to travel.
And bitterness took root—the kind that grows only in truly helpless places.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a constant pressure in his chest.
He stopped going into the backyard because he couldn’t stand the smell of summer. It reminded him of everything he had lost.
Then, one Thursday afternoon, something inside him finally fractured.
