It’s not waking up in the hospital that was the worst, or even the first few days of intense pain dulled by morphine. It’s getting up out of bed and forcing himself to use his shoulder, working with the damn therapist until it aches.

It’s going home and dropping a cup of coffee because he grabbed it with his weak side, then swearing at the shattered pieces until she puts her hand over his on the wet towel, squeezing gently.

“Relax, Henry.” She kisses his ear and a flush creeps across his scalp. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Sure.”