"My name is Dean. Dean Browning. Please, please let me stay!" I was saying over and over to no one in particular. Maybe that's why no one seemed to be listening.

Oh God, I was in pain! And I was incredibly sad - painfully sad for some reason. My head pounded, throbbing in time with my beating heart. My heart was beating. I didn't know what to make of that; I still felt sad, but I wasn't sure whether I was - or should be - sad about the fact that my heart was beating.

Pain was easier to understand. My heart was sending blood through my body, and that blood was pounding into my head. I tried to slow down my breathing, in the hopes that it I might gain a fraction of a second more relief between the relentless hammer blows.

While I worked on that, I also started to take stock of my surroundings. Doing so was a challenge since I couldn't open my eyes. They were bandaged over or something. Oh shit, what if I no longer had eyes? At least I still had ears; I knew that because that confounded beeping was driving me crazy. I'd heard that sound before; I was in a hospital. Next was what I felt: lots of stuff attached to me, and some of it very unpleasant. There was something deep in my throat - probably a feeding tube or something to help me breathe. I felt what I assumed were leads on my temples and my chest. My hands felt bandaged and immobile. I couldn't feel anything on my legs or feet, so maybe they'd escaped the worst of whatever had happened to me.

.

My mind went back to the dream that had felt so real. Since I couldn't see anything anyway, I tried to focus on Emily's sweet face. She was so beautiful, just like always. Then I saw my parents; why were they with her? The only thing they had in common now was that they were dead. Maybe I'd been close myself. Maybe I got lucky, and some doctor brought me back. Funny, that. I didn't feel lucky.

That dream had been quite vivid. I remembered Emily's soft touch, and how she'd kept squeezing my hand. It felt like she'd been communicating with me nonverbally. The oddest thing was that I hadn't had to gauge any of her words. I don't know how or why, but it had seemed that Emily had been incapable of any lie, fib, or falsehood. Everything she'd 'said' had been genuinely pure and could be accepted at face value.

Then I remembered that, yes, my parents had been a part of the dream. They'd seemed... happy. There was also a foggy memory of my wife and friend sitting in my living room. They'd been very sad.

A thought of how I felt about my wife, Ashley, came to mind, followed by a brief remembrance of why I felt the way I did. Specifically, what she'd done to me, to illicit those feelings.

Just then, I heard movement in the room. I turned my head towards the footsteps. Whoever was there gasped and came closer to the mechanism that was beeping. The footsteps quickly left the room, and then returned in triplicate.

"Mr. Browning?" said a voice. "If you're awake please gently shrug your shoulder."

I did as directed, and heard them shuffling about.

"Mr. Browning," the voice continued, "you're at Memorial Hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas. You were airlifted here. You've been in an accident and are badly injured, and have been through surgery. You're awake a little earlier than we expected. That's a good sign, but we need you to rest for a while longer so we're going to give you something for your pain and to help you get back to sleep. I'll be back in the morning to discuss your injuries and what's being done to get you well. Please just rest, and don't try to move much."

It wasn't long at all before I was dreaming of Emily again. She was on her knees, tending to some flowers in a garden.

"Oh, hi Dean," she said as if all was perfectly fine. "Were you thinking of me?"

I didn't answer or nod, but it felt like I did. I had a lot to say - ask, really - but I just stood there like a dummy, staring at my lovely lost friend. I wished like anything that I could remain with her, but something told me definitively that I could not.

"It wasn't time yet, Dean," she stated without speaking, while going back to her work. "Your heart started, so you'll have to stay there a while longer."

With my mind I told her, "But I didn't want to leave. I want to stay with you."

Emily looked up and smiled that sweet smile that melted me like the first time I'd ever seen her. She motioned for me to sit by her.

"What are you going to do, Dean?" she asked in a carefree tone. "With your life, I mean? What kind of life will you live, and how will you use the gift?"

I had no idea what she meant, but that also seemed fine by her. Both Emily and the garden started to fade away, and I was back in the darkness.

When I came to, I was fairly certain I wasn't dreaming. There seemed to be a flurry of activity in the room. I felt a little pressure on my right hand, and then someone was swabbing my lips. The wetness felt good. A female voice asked me not to move. Someone else was gently wiping my forearms with a warm sponge or cloth. Then I guess the doctor entered.

"Good morning, Mr. Browning," he said cheerfully. "I'm Dr. Nash, and I'm the attending physician assigned to you. We're going to start by talking about what happened, and the extent of your injuries. Don't nod, just shrug if you understand."

I did, so he went on.

"Sir, you were in a bad automobile accident. Do you remember that?" he asked. I shrugged again.

"Okay," he said shuffling some papers. "Your car went through a guardrail, and over an embankment. You were found badly injured in the ravine below. Do you remember that as well, sir?"

I shrugged.

"So," he continued, "you were unresponsive when you arrived here. Your heart stopped, was restarted, and you were taken into surgery. You had several broken or cracked ribs. You had a concussion, although no swelling of your brain. Your hands were badly cut as a result of coming into contact with the windshield. They also likely saved your life. Most people wouldn't think to let go of the steering wheel. They will be bandaged for at least a week, and reevaluated then. You've been here three days."

There was a pause as Dr. Nash inhaled a deep breath. I didn't like that at all.

"Your legs were crushed in several places in the fall. Your spinal cord was nearly severed at lumbar four. Your C-7 was also fractured - probably when your head rebounded off the wheel or airbag. You'll be given some McKenzie exercises to help you when you have neck pain. The exercises help keep the fluid from leaking through the hairline fracture. Mr. Browning, right now, I'd like you to shrug if you feel something, anything, alright?"

Shit, I thought. That's why nobody was doing any work below my waist. I waited and waited - nothing.

"Anything, Mr. Browning?" he asked me, seeming to already know my answer. "Shrug once for no and twice for yes."

I shrugged once, heartbroken.

"Okay, Mr. Browning," he stated. "As devastating as this probably seems, it's not the end of the world. Your body has undergone a serious trauma. Your spine will need time to heal, as will the rest of you. We'll keep testing daily, and as you start feeling better, you'll be working with a physical therapist. At the moment, there's a lot of healing to do. Your hands will be kept immobilized, as will your neck. Shrug once if you understand."

I shrugged. The doctor told me he was going to provide another sedative and he wanted me to rest most of the next twenty-four hours. I was forlorn while drifting off, and wondered why I wasn't in a panic.

The next day brought more activity, and Dr. Nash came in with the surgeon. "Your spine," - blah, blah. "Walking again is within the realm of possibility," - blah, blah. "With time and physical therapy," triple blah.

The best part was the doctor telling them to remove my feeding tube. That hurt like hell, but at least I got an ice chip. The lowest I could feel the prick of the needle was just above my genitals. They told me as that improved I could have the catheter removed and pee on my own.

"Mr. Browning, your wife and best friend are outside, waiting to see you. I'm going to send them in after your sponge bath." I frantically tried to speak.

"Whoa, sir, please don't talk!" He warned me.

I mouthed "No" over and over. He and the nurses mumbled back and forth at each other.

"You don't want to see your wife and friend?" he asked, shocked.

There were more 'no's from me. He just looked at me for a moment, trying to ascertain if I was maybe suffering from something else.

"Okay, Mr. Browning. I'll let them know. Do you want us to contact anyone else - some other next of kin, perhaps?"

I mouthed "No" again.

I could hear them talking right outside the door to my room. Ashley's voice was elevated, threatening the doctor. Steve was calming her, telling her it was okay - that it was expected - and then he said something that confirmed everything I'd recently learned about Steve.

"He's probably too embarrassed to see us, especially since his suicide attempt failed."

That motherfucker. I had no idea how I was going to get a piece of Steve, but there was no way he'd go unpunished. I had other things to worry about just then, and those were far more important to me.

Later that afternoon, I was told my daughter was there, and could she come in. I mouthed yes. Destiny hugged me gently, crying tears of joy, and so did I. As she carefully swiped my tears away, she came straight to the point.

"Daddy," she began, "what's going on with you and mom? You told me the morning of your accident that you two were having some problems. Now they tell us you won't see her, or Uncle Steve, for that matter. I know you're supposed to limit talking. Can you just shrug if I ask you some questions?"

Being under strict orders not to talk was a blessing. I didn't have to tell my baby girl that her mother was slutting around on me with her best friend's father - that prick 'Uncle Steve.' It didn't mean that part of me didn't want to. I motioned for Destiny to come close.

"Accident," I faintly whispered. "No suicide."

She started sobbing then. My heart went out to her. So much had already happened in her young life, with this and Emily's death. I realized right then she was just like me in that regard, except her father had lived - well, so far anyway. Emily's words came rushing back then. What would I do with my life?

"Daddy," she said sadly, "are you going to come back home?"

The anguish on her young face determined my next words. "I'm gonna try, Des. But don't know yet. One day at a time."

Destiny nodded. I asked her to take my debit card, and stop at a Best Buy. I needed a tablet so I could keep track of my finances and communicate with my lawyer. There was zero trust left concerning those two. I'd also need to communicate with my employer, and see what they'd been told, and inquire as to my current status. Changing my beneficiaries was also a top priority.

The next morning, the shift nurse came in and asked me the question I'd been expecting.

"Mr. Browning, your wife wanted me to ask you - she wants to speak with you for five minutes - and after that, she'll leave you alone if that's what you want." She left it hanging there a moment.

"Dean," she said. She used my first name; I hadn't heard it since before the accident. "She's been here, with your friend, since the morning after they brought you in. I don't know your situation, but maybe you should hear her out."

I went to whisper my approval, and to my surprise, my voice came out. I asked for a small cup of ice to suck on. Five minutes later, there was Ashley and... Fuck. Me. Steve. She came in tentatively, but couldn't contain herself, and rushed to my bedside looking to hug me.

"Don't, Ash," I scolded, still just barely above a whisper. "We can't risk messing me up."

She stopped and took in the man before her - the broken man that had once been her loving husband. I wondered if she had any idea how broken my heart and mind were. I never even looked at the fucker who had once called himself friend.

"Dean," she began, "I've been so, so worried about you, honey. I'm so glad you're alive!" She began bawling, but tried to regain some composure.

After several minutes, she looked me in the eye. "I... we... I have to ask," she began. Her face took on a different expression. "Did you do this to yourself, Dean? Was it on purpose?" She'd glanced just briefly at Steve while asking. It was so subtle that if I hadn't already known what was going on, I would not have caught it. She was challenging Steve, right to his face, by posing that question.

I'd been wondering how I was going to deal with her. It seemed ridiculous, but in the past few days I'd come to realize that I'd not been very fair to Ashley, or myself, all these years. First, as the husband, I should have been leading our marriage - not from a place of strength, but from a place of love. Instead, I'd given freely and completely of myself to Ashley. No questions, ever. All the way back to, and including, those damn promises and oaths, I'd been... meek. Hell, I'd even done it back when we'd made the switch in college. I'd agreed to it out of selfishness. I couldn't stand the thought of losing them as friends. I'd had an unhealthy fear of being alone - of loss. But that didn't excuse twenty damned years.

It was all too evident now that what I'd done out of kindness, my wife had taken as weakness. That was both of our faults. I knew something that only Steve and Ashley knew, though. It would be their undoing if I used the information appropriately and at the right time.

"You flatter yourself, Ash."

The look on her face told me I'd scored a direct hit. Before she could answer, and looking at Steve for the first time, I continued.

"Why is he here, Ashley?" I asked. I remained calm, and spoke evenly and quietly. "Do we have that much of a failure to communicate, or are you simply trying to drive me away?"

"No. Dean, no," she responded finally. "I thought... I mean, with everything that's happened, I guess I thought that wasn't important right now." She glossed right over it.

"What's important," she said, changing direction, "is you're alive, and you're going to be alright."

"But I'm not, Ashley," I replied seriously, "I'll possibly never walk again. I may never regain my independence, and I'll never again have a wife that's faithful, will I?"

The tears were literally falling off her face. She hadn't expected anything like this from me, but to her credit, she remained self-confident. That spoke volumes. It told me that my spot-diagnosis of our deeply flawed relationship was dead on.

"Don't say that, Dean, please." She spoke assuredly. "That's not true. I love you, and we'll do everything we can to make sure you get back to... normal."

"We, as in who?" I shrugged.

"As in us, Dean." She quickly answered. "Steve's only here for support."

"Yeah," I snarled, "I'm sure."

Further Ashley trudged, changing the subject again. Her behavior was... predictable.

"They tell me you'll be here for at least another twenty days." Ashley started her new agenda. "We're... I'm flying home later today, so I can start preparing for your return. We have some things to discuss, so that I'll know what you want me to do. The doctor has given me a bunch of paperwork to read, about what I need to purchase, about how I need to arrange the house due to your... limitations."

She had to stop, then. I think she suddenly realized what she was in for. What a selfish bitch I'd fallen for.

"Okay, Ash," I said impatiently. "What do you need from me?"

"I need access to our savings," she said, "and I need info from your work concerning your insurance, so I can start submitting claims for all the things we'll need. That's something you've always done, and I'm not sure how to handle it." The second, almost imperceptible glance at Steve gave me pause.

I could envision Steve inserting himself, offering his expertise. I could see Ashley, sitting in Steve's lap, in my home office, drinking wine, as he went through the forms and my bank accounts, finally taking my former wife up to our bed to follow up one set of dirty deeds with another.

"I'll take care of all that, Ash," I replied. "Destiny is bringing me a tablet. I'll email you instructions for everything I need you to do. It will be a few days yet before I'm up to spending time doing anything, and you can spend that time doing the things at home which don't require anything except moving some furniture. There's still a possibility that I'll need to stay here in Little Rock for a bit after I'm discharged for physical therapy. They may want me to wait to travel. I'll let you know."

I wasn't cold, but I was certainly all business. I talked to her like a work colleague, and she felt it. I looked back to Steve.

"You," I said, raising my voice a bit, "are not allowed in my home. I can't stop the two of you doing whatever you're going to do, but if she didn't let you read my note, then I'll say it face-to-face. We're done, finished, over. This should be the very last time we speak or see each other. Got it?"

Steve only nodded. He turned and left the room.

Ashley approached my bed and placed her hand on my forearm. "Dean," she said sadly, "I'm so sorry for all of this." She was thoughtful for a moment. "I know our future looks bleak, but I promise, I'm not giving up on us, and I'm going to do everything I can to prove how much I love you. I'll show you, and no matter what else heals or doesn't - I'll heal your heart."

She leaned over and quickly kissed my lips. Then she left.

I was tired. I really wanted to think about everything that had just transpired, so I could scorch it into my memory banks, but I just could not stay awake.

Emily and I were at the cliff again. She looked a little... transparent. I reached for her hand, but she didn't reciprocate. I could sense what she wanted. I shimmied up to the edge again. It was the same scene, except no Steve. Ashley sobbed alone, curled up in a ball on our couch. No, it wasn't our couch, or our living room. Unlike the first time, I could not grasp her thoughts or feelings. I knew her well enough though, by now, to gain a pretty good understanding. She was afraid.

 "What are you going to do with this gift?" Emily interrupted my observation. "What are you going to do with your life?" She smiled that damned perfect smile, and then she faded away.

In the darkness, nearing sunrise, I lay awake thinking. There was no doubt at all, that Ashley meant every word she said the previous day. The real issue was that Ashley didn't know that I knew what I knew. She was being absolutely honest with me, not out of guilt, but because she was so used to 'weak' Dean, after all these years. The one who always capitulated to her needs and desires. Now, being disabled, it would be worse. I'd have to surrender or succumb. I had no means to check up on her, or confront them. Shit, I couldn't even run away.

In many ways, it dawned on me, Ashley would have been far better off if I'd died. There would be no constant, daily reminder. Time would heal her, and eventually, she'd force herself to move on. She'd been a conceited, conniving bitch, and that's a hard thing to reconcile with one's self, especially when one has been fooling themselves for so long. Becoming a sudden widow would have been an escape hatch. I was the victim, the witness, and the evidence, all rolled into one. If I'd died, Ashley could've buried all her sins with me. My only hope for revenge then - setting aside that I wouldn't have been in a position to hope for anything - would have been that Steve would finally out himself to her as the complete asshole he was, and ruin her life too.

Yes, Ashley would be quite easy to deal with, now that 'weak' and 'kind' Dean was no more. It would take no more effort, than to do absolutely nothing at all. Steve, on the other hand, would require more thought and planning. He was a sleazy asshole, not a stupid one - quite the opposite, in fact. I was an electrical engineer - well, by education and experience, at least, even if I might never work that job again. I wasn't a schemer. I wasn't a weasel. If I was going to out-weasel a professional weasel, I'd need help. Unfortunately, that meant trusting other people with my plans. I didn't have a lot of that to spare at that moment.

But what was Emily trying to tell me? Were these just dreams? I'd read plenty of stories about people, like me, that had crossed over into that light. Only a select few had remembered what they'd seen there. I supposed I was now one of them, but it could have very easily just been some dream. Sure, I'd still been grieving Emily's death when my accident had happened. But I hadn't been thinking about her at all when I'd gone blurry. She'd been right there in my windshield, reaching out. That was the thing that made me believe that I hadn't been dreaming, and maybe still wasn't just dreaming. I certainly wouldn't be sharing those thoughts with anyone else.

Destiny returned as I ate my first solid food the next morning. It was slow going. She smiled at me and set the iPad box on the side table.

"Here you go, Daddy," she said, beaming. "I'm so happy you're getting better. I can't imagine ever being without you."

God, I loved my little girl.

"Daddy?" she asked more seriously. "What's going to happen with you and Mom? She and Steve told Haley and I about what they did... to you. Is there a chance...?"

She trailed off. I loved my daughter, but I needed to keep a lid on some things, while still being somewhat honest. For all I knew, she was asking for Ashley.

"She told you about the oath?" I asked feigning surprise. "Or something else?"

"The oath, Dad," she sighed, and continued, "and how they hurt you with their actions. Haley is so pissed at her dad. She told me you were stupid if you didn't kick his ass and divorce Mom."

Destiny's smile disappeared then, and she began to sniffle. I knew this was going to be hard on her, but at least both her parents were alive.

"I don't know, sweetie," I responded honestly. "I have a lot to think about. I've told them both that Steve is no longer a friend, and I don't want to see him ever again. Your mom and me, well, we'll have to see about that. Did she tell you I already had divorce papers drawn up before I went on my vacation?

She nodded.

"Can you tell Haley something for me, honey?" She nodded again, still sniffling.

"Tell her not to worry," I started. "I can't explain this, so don't ask, and please keep it between you, me and Haley. During the time that I... was, well, gone, I got a strange sense that her mom is fine, at peace, and that she loves Haley very, very much."

"Dad?" she asked incredulously. "What?"

"I just told you I can't explain," I said. "Trust me, okay?"

"Okay, Dad. I will." She responded looking strangely at me. "Do you need anything else today? My flight doesn't leave until eight tonight."

"Yeah," I said thoughtfully. "A fish dinner."

She looked at me questioningly.

"I had four trout and a couple bass in my trunk when that accident happened," I told her. "I'd earned them in the river that morning, and I never got to enjoy them."

We both had a laugh. That's when I finally felt the broken ribs!

My hospital stay was a mixed bag. Have you ever tried 'swiping' with bandaged hands? Sometimes I had to wait for one of the nurses to help me, but I finally got all of our finances separated. I changed my death beneficiaries, but maintained our health insurance for the time being. The State of Florida had helped get me placed on disability. I stayed in contact with Ashley, about what needed to be done, but we had no personal conversations about us, or our future. I could tell she was getting antsy, but that she had decided to await my return home to start her plan to get me back.

On day ten, I was able to witness the unwrapping of my hands. What a mess. Fortunately, I had feeling, and could move all ten of my digits. The neurologist examined, poked and prodded. I few things he did immediately reminded me of when Emily had squeezed my hand. It made me wonder again about my vision. The hands themselves would be checked and rewrapped several times per week, until healed.

There was one other surprising bright spot on my road to recovery. Patricia, my physical therapist, worked with me for the first four days. She told me right off that she was working her last week, as her family was moving to Oregon. On the fifth day, Patricia brought in her replacement.

The young lady was feisty. She was funny, and a breath of fresh air to me. It was easy to see that she loved life and her job. Her name tag read 'Emily.'

Emily and I hit it off right away. We weren't merely compatible; we seemed to share an uncanny and unspoken closeness. It almost felt like two twins, separated at birth, being reunited. She showed me charts and x-rays of others who had my particular injury. She talked to me straight about the percentages and chances for a full recovery. But she also made sure I knew about all the options. She explained advances in prosthetics where the connections could be attached directly to the nerves.

Most importantly, Emily made me feel hopeful, and that was something I sorely needed. She also had a way about her, which I couldn't really describe, but it allowed me to open up to her. Before we got two weeks in, Emily knew about my recent past and what had led me to that mountainside - if not necessarily down the ravine, directly.

Emily was also physically unlike most women I knew. First, she had blonde hair that bordered on white. Ashley and my other Emily were both brunettes. This Emily was pleasantly plump. She was thirty-two, which made her twelve years my junior. I was totally aware that there were very few commonalities between my old friend Emily and this new one. I didn't get all giddy about it, not even silently, to myself.

We talked at length about my return to Jacksonville, what I expected to find there, and what I could do to keep my head on straight while continuing my recovery. Emily was worried that the toxic environment between Ashley and me would build and eventually keep me from doing the things I needed to do on a daily basis.

"Dean," she started, "if you two need to have it out, do it. Give it to her straight, if need be, so you can focus on everything we've been doing here. I wish I could come with you."

I ended up staying at the hospital for eleven days longer than anticipated. The doctor wanted to play it safe with my spinal injury before flying. I'd gotten some feeling back in my right leg, from about mid-thigh up. The best and worst part was getting the feeling back in my groin. While it felt great to have sensation, the occasional tingling was very annoying. It felt similar to when your hand or foot goes to sleep. My left leg still needed exercise daily so it wouldn't atrophy.

Ashley arrived the morning of my flight, looking marvelous. If not for the divide between us, I would have had some dirty thoughts, but as it was, I could only wonder if she dolled herself up for Steve like that. There were lots of smiles, most faked, and very few words after the initial salutations. Ashley wasn't prepared at all to wheel a man around a busy airport. With all the mistaken bumps here and there, I was beginning to wonder if she was trying to fuck up my spine. About seventy percent of what came from Ashley's mouth was "Oops! Sorry." and "Excuse me!"

The first potential blow-up might have occurred after we arrived home, but Ashley covered well. After a long struggle to get out of the car and into my wheelchair, I noticed the makeshift ramp covering our two front steps. Ashley seemed to sense my discomfort.

"Mahaney & Sons Construction made it," she said nervously. "I have their card inside."

I didn't reply. Once inside, I was situated in the spare bedroom. The new bed had a button to raise the head of the mattress, which I really appreciated. Ashley went to the master bedroom to get ready for bed while I settled in. She came back looking like she'd been crying, but I didn't care enough to ask.

"Dean, honey," she asked somberly, "I know we have an awful lot to talk about, but can we wait until tomorrow? I'm just beat, physically and emotionally."

I nodded, and said goodnight. I knew what she meant. It was emotionally debilitating to see her husband like this, not knowing if the situation would ever improve.

That set the tone for our next few days. Ashley had been told before all this had happened, that there would be no soothing my hurt feelings. I guess she didn't realize that once respect is gone, and trust badly shaken, it's pretty hard to have a legitimate or meaningful conversation.

Ashley tried, I mean really tried, those first seven or eight days. Except every time she seemed ready to start discussing our relationship, it was like a door slammed in her head, and she shut down. The looks on her face were an endless back-and-forth of determination and confusion. Maybe she just didn't know what to say, or how to start. Ashley had begun to wilt under the pressure. I'd already had an other-worldly glimpse of her heart, her mind, and likely even her soul. The chances of Ashley cracking and then breaking were exactly one hundred percent. Once that happened, we could finally have the talk we so desperately needed to have.

On the eighth night after my homecoming, Ashley came into my room at about seven. She was dressed for a night out.

"Do you need anything?" she asked stoically. She didn't wait for my reply. "I'm going out for a bit - for coffee. I need a break, Dean. I hope you understand."

I understood perfectly. It had been expected, and honestly it gave me more time. More time to deal with my enemy.

Ash had taken a part time job four days per week as soon as she'd gotten back home from that first hospital visit. We needed the money badly: the bed, my chair, the uncovered medical expenses, deductibles and co-pays. I was guessing we didn't owe on that ramp that Steve had probably had made.

We were hurting financially, but I still had thirteen thousand, six-hundred on that credit card. I'd given my attorney-referred PI a deposit of fifteen hundred, and asked for a hard background check of Steve. There weren't a ton of hours to bill, since I wasn't having him followed. The initial report showed him to be pretty clean for a lawyer. There were some suggestions though.

"Dean," my PI said, "this is outside the law, but if you can get a Trojan on his email account, we can take a look at any activities he's trying to keep quiet."

"I don't enjoy the prospect of being crippled and in prison," I replied.

"I get it," he responded, "But without playing a little dirty, your entire revenge will be trying to publicly humiliate him for stealing a disabled friend's wife. That's if she ends up going to him. I'll remind you that Jill Biden did the exact same thing to her husband, minus the disabled part, and now she's the First Lady. The rotten prick of a lawyer who took her is now the President of the United States."

Emily called me on Tuesday of the following week. "What the hell, Dean?" she admonished. "I just got off the phone with your PT, and she said you canceled her Monday appointment and haven't been doing your exercises regularly. Are you having problems?"

I made a few half-hearted excuses, but I finally relented. There wasn't any point in lying to her. I knew I'd slacked off the past week. Thoughts of personal redemption had overtaken me. I promised to get back on track, and she promised that if I didn't, she'd fly to Florida and slap the shit out of me. Before saying our good-byes, Emily promised to check in on me every other day, and said that if I needed to talk, to call her. She provided her personal cell number.

When Saturday rolled around again, Ashley came into the kitchen to check on me before going out again. I stopped eating dinner, and looked her over top to bottom. She seemed unhappy with the way I regarded her.

"What's that," I said without emotion, "four nights this week?"

"Dean," she replied with a perturbed sigh. "We're not talking, we're not interacting. I'm doing my best here. Give me a damned break, will you?"

"Your best?" I laughed as I asked. "Boy, Ash, I'd hate to see your worst."

"And what about you?" she snarled. "Sitting around in a daze. Are you depressed or something? Geez, we're living like strangers, except I'm waiting on you hand and foot, plus working. I haven't gotten so much as a 'thank you,' let alone a hug. I'm your wife, goddammit! I'm... just trying to fix..."

I cut her off. "Just trying to fix something I told you from day one that you probably weren't going to be able to fix. Understand, Ashley, I'm not a car's engine or a pair of eyeglasses. You don't fix humans the way you fix innate objects. I tried to explain that very thing to you, but you wouldn't even listen."

She started to respond, but stopped, realizing she was about to lose it. She couldn't even comprehend a world where I didn't simply conform. She turned and walked to the door, opening it.

"You're going to him, aren't you?"

Ashley stopped, frozen in the door frame, her hand still on the knob. She wouldn't turn to face me, and after a few moments, she closed the door behind her.

I called Emily that night. That damned double-edged sword was back, grinding away inside of me. I knew I was quickly filling up with self-pity, and I needed someone to help me pull the drain plug. We talked for nearly two hours. There was no rush after all. She asked me some questions about my other Emily, perhaps trying to take my mind off Ashley. The tears came, recounting memories of my dear friend, and moments later I broke down. It was embarrassing, but cathartic.

I supposed Ashley had come home at some point, but I slept like the dead. I heard her putting together some breakfast, or something, before heading out to work. Ten minutes after she left, my cell rang, and it was Emily.

"Hey Dean," she said. She sounded happy. "How are you this morning?"

"Well, I'm just waking up," I joked. "Haven't started my morning regimen yet."

"You can in about five minutes," she replied jovially. "I'm at your front door. Do you have a spare key somewhere? Oh, and I'm starving. I've been sitting at the end of your block waiting for the wicked witch to leave."

I told her where the spare key was, and moments later, I was staring at her smiling face. We spent the afternoon getting reacquainted and recapping my new life with Ashley.

"I don't understand, Dean," she said, confounded. "If she's still going to be with him, why not just divorce her?

"Because," I replied, "I need her to see for herself what's she's done and the repercussions of her actions. All of her actions, Emily. I know what she's been up to all along. She just doesn't know that I know. I have a feeling it was Steve who initially convinced her, but I also believe that after a while it just became exciting and repetitive enough that she didn't even consider the consequences of her actions. I do plan to get everything out in the open soon, but I still need to be able to take care of myself. I don't have anyone else."

"Well, now you have me," she stated definitively, "for as long as it takes."

Later that day, Ashley came home looking ragged. I introduced her to Emily, and my soon-to-be- ex-wife just stared with her mouth hanging open. When I told her that Emily would be staying for a while to help with my recovery, and that I'd let her set up in Destiny's old room, I'm sure I saw veins exploding in Ashley's forehead. Still, she remained silent. I let it go. It was her burden to bear.

The silence didn't last long, however. The next morning, I heard elevated voices, followed by yelling and then something breaking. I quickly called both women's cell phones, and finally Emily answered. I felt this could be the breakthrough I'd been waiting for, so I asked Em to come back and help me get settled in my chair. She told me Ashley had accused her of trying to steal me away and said she wasn't going to stand idly by. I asked Emily if she could find something to do for a couple hours so I could talk to my wife.

I came into the kitchen to find Ashley slumped at the kitchen table. She'd recently been crying but was now just staring languidly at her food. I rolled up to the table and asked Ash if we could talk for a bit. She nodded, and got up to fix me a cup of hot coffee.

While that was happening, Emily sauntered out, pep in her step, and headed for the door. "Call me if you need anything, Dean," she casually remarked.

Ashley let out an audible "hrumf" as she sat back down. "Dean, what is going on with this... woman? I've been doing my best to care for you. She's not here just to help you with your treatment, you know? She has other ideas. I can see it in her eyes."

A part of me said, "Dean, just roll back to your room, and stop this talk right now." That part told me she wasn't anywhere close to ready for what was coming. But I'd learned something - a great many things actually - about myself lately. I'd never really dealt with my fear of losing loved ones, even though I'd had it spelled out for me by multiple people since all the way back in college. I'd also never linked it up to my unhealthy desire to never be alone. I finally had, though, and I'd resolved to make a change.

I'd had plenty of time to decide exactly how this was going to go. I just needed to stick to my guns. At the hospital, Ashley had sincerely promised to heal my heart. Her grave miscalculation was expecting the same old Dean to come home, maybe even weaker from his ailments. She'd quickly discovered that the capitulating husband she'd known for twenty years was gone forever.

"Ashley, she's a physical therapist, for God's sake," I said calmly. "What's the problem? I need someone to help me through this."

"That's what I'm supposed to be doing, Dean," she hollered back, "but you won't let me. Why her?"

"Ashley," I responded with a long sigh, "you're gone more than you are here, I..."

"I have to work, Dean!" she interrupted. "You know that."

I studied her face for a moment. I'd never known Ashley to be this delusional. Had I missed it all this time? "I'm not talking about work." I said, daring her to deny it.

She didn't immediately reply so I carried on. "Where are you off to all these evenings? Before you answer, Ash, at least have the decency to be honest, because we both know it's rhetorical."

She looked at her plate again. "I don't have anyone to talk to. I understand you're still upset about the oath, and you made me promise to give you your space, but I need support too."

Finally.

"Ashley, again, be honest. You're going to him for companionship, sure, but that also means sex. How stupid do you think I am? He wants you, and you've been doing it all along. You're not ever going to say 'no,' and we both know that. He's a selfish prick with a dead wife.

"Things didn't go how both of you suspected regarding the oath, and now you don't know what to do. I didn't mean to get in the accident, just so we're clear. That was my condition hitting me on a dangerous stretch of road. But even if I never walk again, I'm glad it happened, because now my eyes are open."

"I just want my marriage back, Dean," she said in a raspy voice. "Wait, what did you just say? Been doing what all along?"

I leaned forward in my wheelchair staring her down. "You know exactly what I mean. All the way back to the bachelor party." I left it there, again daring her to deny it.

Besides the look of shock, Ashley studied my face intently, hoping against hope to find the slightest hint of a bluff. I could almost hear her heart beating.

"How?" she tried to say, but it came out like she'd just spent time in a desert without water.

"How, indeed," I shrugged. "I just figured it out. Starting with the simple fact that no two people who claimed to care for and love another, like the two of you did, could even consider carrying out that stupid blood oath. You filled in the first blank by telling me about your 'fifth' time. After that it was pretty easy." I wasn't about to describe my near-death experience to someone it would be wasted on. Besides, how to you accuse your spouse of cheating, by saying you read her mind and feelings, in a vision when your heart had stopped beating

"I never m..."

I cut her off. "Ashley, please," I admonished her, "let's just not do that. Maybe you didn't mean to, but you did, and you should have at least thought about that a long time ago. Besides, I won't be ready to hear your apology for quite some time, if ever."

Tears streamed down Ashley's face. From the expression she wore, I guessed they were tears of relief. She'd carried the burden far too long, trying to protect herself, placate Steve, and keep me in the dark.

"What now, Dean?" she asked meekly.

"Now, you start packing and go to him for good," I stated with zero emotion.

Temporary insanity overtook her. "No! You need someone to take care..." her emphatic words trailed off, seemingly remembering our new house guest.

"Oh, I get it," she said dejectedly.

"Yes. I suppose you finally do, Ashley. You'll be served some papers, either at work or at Steve's. I'd prefer not to embarrass you at a new job you're going to need. Seems more appropriate for it to be at his place. Get someone to look them over, and sign on that dotted fucking line like there's no tomorrow. I want this done, and if either of you start pissing me off, you won't like the result. I'm nowhere near as stupid as Steve probably tells you I am."

Ashley stared at me briefly. Then she shocked me by standing, touching my forearm, and saying, simply, "I'm truly sorry, Dean. Sorry for all this."

I heard her in the master - sorting her stuff, and packing. I heard her talking on the phone, and heard enough to know who she was talking to. At one point, I heard her say, "No, I can manage, thanks."

So the prick wanted to come rescue her, just so he could rub my face in their twenty year affair, one last time. It was depressing that I hadn't seen him for who he was before. Ashley came back with three suitcases and her overnight bag. She took her keys out of her purse and removed our house key, setting it on the counter.

"Dean, I never stopped loving you," she said with a crack in her voice. "If you don't ever believe anything else about me, know that that's the truth."

"Goodbye Ashley," I said, staring out our kitchen window, giving her my back. It's all that she deserved.

Once she was gone, I called the PI and told him it was done and I'd be sending the email shortly, and would let them know when I got a response from Steve.

To get that Trojan attached, I'd have to send Steve one last email. I'd also have to grovel a bit, to ensure his ego-driven response. It was one of the hardest things, I'd ever done, but well worth it.

"Steve,

I've finally found peace, and I just wanted to say, you've bested me. I guess you were the better man all along. You and Ashley deserve each other, and I mean that in any way you choose to take it. I truly hope to never see you again, but if I do, no hard feelings."

His reply came less than an hour later:

"Buddy,

That's the part you just don't get. I've ALWAYS deserved her, and everything else life has to offer. Because you're so slow on the draw, and were the very last to realize I'm the better man, I'm going to overlook your left-handed comment, and simply say - good luck. Toodles!

Smug bastard. I sure hoped this worked.

Then I called Destiny, and when she told me that Haley was in class, I told them there was something important I needed to share if they could FaceTime me as soon as Haley got back. An hour and a half later, I spilled the whole tawdry story to them. There was lots of crying, and pledges to come home and look after me. That's when I introduced them to Emily, who'd returned earlier. I made sure they knew I was well taken care of and to focus on their studies. Haley obviously became emotional upon hearing her mother's name.

"Haley, listen honey," I started, "when I had my accident, I felt something. I know your mom is in a good place. She's okay, and she's at peace. Don't ask me how I know, I just do."

Later that same afternoon, I got a call from the PI.

"That was fast," I said. "Found something already?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Not exactly what we were looking for, but something better, in my opinion. We found several communications between Steve and another law firm. They were trying to settle a case between their clients: a married woman's husband, and Steve. I found the name of another PI firm in the email, and reached out. Seemed the now ex-husband was having the wife followed and had some pics taken of the pair making out.

"But get this. The pictures are from eight days after Steve's wife was buried. We also found out he's part of an exclusive swingers club locally, and he's the self-proclaimed recruiter of new married couples. I'm guessing through the women. We don't need any more info, or to do anything illegal. This should be enough to ruin him. Do you concur?"

Epilogue:

I did concur. Two days after my attorney said Ashley had signed the paperwork, I took out a full page ad in the local paper. That cost me another chunk on my credit card, but it needed to be done.

I published the picture of the good-looking blonde woman, her face blurred out, sitting cozily next to Steve at a nice restaurant. They were holding hands and looking lovingly into each other's eyes. In the caption, I'd written:

This is Steve Jackson. He's a local attorney and was a friend of mine for twenty years. Some friend he turned out to be. You see, he's been hooking up and having sex with my wife, unbeknownst to me or his wife, for twenty years running. After my recent automobile accident, which left me disabled, he completed his mission by stealing my wife completely. Here, he's with someone else's wife, not mine, only eight days after his own spouse died of cancer. To each their own, I guess, but beware if your wife or significant other knows this guy. He's very good at what he does.

The morning the ad ran, I wrote an email to the swingers club, letting them know that with Steve's recent exposure, my attorney would be looking hard at the club's exploits and Steve's involvement. I implied that lawsuits would follow.

Haley told my daughter that Steve had been 'let go' by his law firm seven days after having his name in lights. I guess the big wigs in Savannah didn't need or want the publicity. Haley said her dad quickly signed on with a firm in Southern California. Steve never came after me, and I never heard another word from him again.

Two months later, our divorce was fast-walked, which surprised me, considering my attorney mentioned a huge backlog of cases. Life with Emily was... soothing, I guess. She doted on me far beyond her medical mandate. I found out early on that the reason she could devote so much time to me was due to her being a trust-fund baby. She eventually transferred to a local hospital, and also a private practice.

I still wasn't there yet. Still feeling alone, and missing many aspects of my life, I slowed in my recovery. That also had to do with the fact that, while all feeling in my hips and pelvis had returned, my left leg saw no progress.

One night as I slept, I encountered my dear friend once again.

"Dean Browning, get off your ass!" she started as we sat in a brightly-lit room. I think it was a room, anyway. I knew we were both sitting, but it was too bright to see any walls or doors.

"You didn't go back so you could feel sorry for yourself, or wallow in self-pity," she scolded. "Neither your parents or I want that. Go live a life that makes you happy, first, but that also provides meaning. Yes, you're an only child. Yes, you had a strange condition, and yes, your leg doesn't work. And still, millions of people have it far worse. You were given a special gift. Don't you dare waste it! You're a good man, with a pure heart. One thing at a time... one day at a time. Until you can handle two things, and then three, and so on. I want to be proud of my best friend. Now go."

And she was gone. That was the last time I ever saw my friend Emily in a dream. But I took her words to heart. She'd been right. Two years after my divorce, I received a prosthetic leg on my left side. Six months after that, Emily and I married.

The girls had spent all their school break time with me and Emily, since their mother had left Steve four days after my ad had come out. I wondered why it had taken that long. She'd moved back to the Chicago area to be close to her parents.

Emily and I didn't fall madly in love. Actually, that was the best part. It was a gradual love, filled with deep mutual understanding and respect. We were 'friends first,' as the saying goes. Destiny and Haley, well, they were another story. She was a lot closer to their age than to me or Ashley.

After getting used to my new leg, I began to tinker with a new electrical node where the connections between nerve and machine took place. After taking early retirement from the State, Emily helped me, and together we created a prototype where the connections were encased in human plasma. This assured a bonding and a faster response time at the point where the electrical responses from human nerve met the hardware. Eventually, the idea was developed in lab, and I was brought onto the project as a consultant. We had earned plenty of money, and we'd earned it by helping other people.

Five years after my life changed so dramatically, Destiny was about to embark on a life-changing adventure of her own. She was getting married to a nice young man named Danny Nelson. I knew Ashley would be there, even though Destiny relied on Emily more for the planning and organization. I'm pretty sure that Emily convinced my daughter to invite her mom. Destiny had mentioned she'd be bringing a date: her new boyfriend - another lawyer. Some people never learn.

As the reception was winding down, and the newlyweds had scurried off to their honeymoon, Ashley approached me.

"Can we talk a minute, Dean?" she asked, gesturing to an empty table near the rear of the hall. I followed her back and sat facing her. After the expected comments about the wedding and how our little girl had grown, she got to the point.

"Dean, I want to tell you some things," she began. "I thought it might help you close the books on us, but as I really thought more about this conversation over the last several weeks, I've come to a conclusion - an epiphany, of sorts. It seems me telling you this is more for me than for you. So if you have questions afterward, I'll gladly answer them, but if you don't, I'll understand that too.

She drew a deep breath. "What happened," she said, "what I did to you, and I suppose to Emily as well, was about the most selfish thing I can imagine. How I ever got to that point is still a mystery to me, and a topic at each week's therapy session. I've forgiven myself for your bachelor party night. As much as I hate Steve now, I've also forgiven him for that one. I can barely remember anything about it, except that I was dead drunk. I'll never even know if he made the first move or if I did. We were young, drunk and pathetic. My mistake was keeping it from you. I had drunken sex with someone you knew I dated, so I should have been able to tell you about it.

"The rest," she said hesitantly, "there's no excuse, but here goes: a year after the girls were born, Steve started flirting with me, like he had when we were in college. It wasn't unfamiliar or off-putting. In fact, it was the opposite. The first time, Em was out on a dive, and you had to go to Tallahassee. We had the girls at his house, and he simply seduced me while they were napping. Before you say anything, I let him. I knew what I was doing, even if I wasn't thinking about the ramifications.

"To my eternal embarrassment," she replied, her voice sounding small now, "every time after that I looked forward to it."

She must have instantly seen my look.

"That didn't come out right, "she stated apologetically. "Not for the sex. The sex was always better with you than with him. That's why we switched in college. But that was the biggest of my mistakes. Yes, we were more sexually compatible, just like Em was with Steve, but I've always wanted more. Outside of the sex, I realized in those first few years with you, that I should have stayed with Steve or someone else more like him. I've always been drawn to that strong, outgoing personality: a man exuding self-confidence, and a certain savoir faire."

I frowned, grappling with her confession. "Okay, Ash, but why not just tell me that early on, so we didn't waste twenty damned years? You could have just asked for a divorce."

"Because," she responded sheepishly, "Steve wouldn't leave her. Said he'd never do it. He started working on me, saying neither of you would be the wiser. We'd be careful. As it was, we only got together like that once or twice a year. Two years we didn't have sex at all, but a few others, we did it four times. He didn't coerce me, Dean. I went along willingly. I wanted to believe what he was selling: That I'd still have my loving husband at home, and could also live out my fantasy with him.

She seemed to want to let that settle. I couldn't hold her eyes anymore and looked away at nothing in particular. I'd spent twenty years with two of the most selfish people alive, and had carried on with them, giving freely of myself, and my heart, blissfully ignorant.

"Four times squared," I spat belligerently.

"No, Dean," she said quietly, reaching for my hand. "Don't think that way. This is all on me. I should have been more aware when Steve started putting Emily down and belittling you. He was carefully making me choose a side, two against two. I didn't pay attention, and then, after Emily died, he came over one day with the scrapbook. He said this was our way to stay together. What he didn't know was that I was already envisioning a new life after Destiny left for college. I couldn't even tell him that. And I lied to you as well when I said that I'd never leave you for him, or anyone else. I was a cat in a cage, and I never told any of you, not even Emily.

"We didn't have sex that final weekend. I was in too much turmoil. His stupid ideas weren't working, and I just wanted out - out of it all. After you placed that ad, I finally realized what a fool I'd been. Here I am, five years down the road, still trying to find myself, but look at you.

"Dean," she said, smiling as she squeezed my hand. "You ended up with both kids, and, dare I say, a replacement Emily, that I can tell loves you very much. You married a selfish, narcissistic bitch the first time out. And, so yes, four times squared. I don't know math, but in a good way."

I sat there, stunned. I wanted to say something - really thought I should say something, anything. But I didn't. She stood, kissed my cheek, and said, "Live a good life Dean. I know that somewhere, Emily is smiling down on you, and she's very proud."

Emily and I did live a good life, if I do say so myself. She didn't want children and I certainly breathed a sigh of relief about that. Quite a few years after Destiny's wedding, I finally understood Ashley's perceived aloofness. It wasn't that at all. She may have been all the things she admitted to, but at least she knew it. I'd finally discovered the things about myself that I needed desperately to know. She simply stated the facts of our lives, and wished me well.