Richard Shaw's legs were not completely devoid of sensation; one foot could still support him. Years ago, his calf had been struck by a bullet. Because he delayed treatment, his ability to walk gradually deteriorated. Seven years passed in the blink of an eye. The man had once thought he would spend his entire life confined to a wheelchair, watching Casimir Shaw grow up safely, get married, and have children—a bleak existence, yet one he could resign himself to.
But unexpectedly, fate offered him a chance to make amends.
Over the past week, Richard Shaw had been waking from dreams each day, jolted by the thought that perhaps none of this was real. Several times a night, he would rise from bed, walk to the adjacent room, and open the door to watch over the sleeping Leah. Only when he listened to her steady breaths in the darkness would he realize that this was no dream.
The man propped himself up, stood, and began to wash himself.
