When James insisted we sleep in separate rooms, I was crushed. After five years of navigating life in a wheelchair, I thought we were in it together. But suddenly, I was alone at night, haunted by doubts and silence. Then came the strange noises — faint thumps, metallic clinks — and my heart filled with fear.

Each night, I imagined the worst: Was he hiding something? Was he trying to leave quietly, piece by piece? One night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I rolled down the hallway, nerves on edge, and reached for his doorknob — unlocked for the first time.

Inside, I didn’t find betrayal. I found James surrounded by tools, blueprints, and handmade furniture. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said gently. He’d been building a lift system, custom drawers — everything to make my life easier.

Tears streamed down my face. I had mistaken love in action for distance. That night, when he climbed back into bed beside me, I whispered, “Welcome home.” He smiled, holding me close. “I never left, Pam. I was just making room for us to grow.”