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The parallel bars were cold under his hands.
His legs were braced in KAFOs, locked straight from knee to ankle. The left already carried more weight than the right.
“Shift left. Slow.”
Matt pushed down through his left palm and leaned. His weight moved over the left leg. The thigh burned. The brace creaked.
“Hold.”
His arms shook against the bars. The left leg held.
“Good. Now unweight the right.”
He lifted the right foot off the mat. A fraction, barely enough to clear. His whole body trembled with the effort of staying upright on one leg.
Three seconds. Four.
“Okay. Set it down.”
He lowered it. His breath came hard through his nose.
The physical therapist had him do it again. And again. Each repetition the same controlled sequence: shift, load, lift, hold, set down. His hands cramped around the bars. Sweat ran along his temples.
“Six seconds on the left, Matt. That’s a new best.”
They guided him back to the wheelchair. His forearms rested on his thighs. The tremor in his hands wouldn’t stop.
Six seconds. His left leg held him for six seconds.
The fall came without warning.
He woke gasping, hands clawing the mattress. Heart slamming.
His hand found the tape square as always. He pressed it into his palm. Rough edges against skin. The one thing that helped.
It didn’t slow.
“You keep fighting the part you can see. That’s not where the threat is.”
He lay soaked in sweat, and squeezed harder for nothing.
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