Each step down the hallway to his room became more and more difficult. As she put one foot in front of the other, her heart began to pound, and her mouth suddenly went dry. She could never have guessed that they would come to this, and that she would have to fight to remain in his life.

She could see him through the glass window into his room. The second surgery had left him even more pale and weak than before. He lay motionless, grim-faced, with his head turned to the wall.

She took a deep breath and peeled her tongue from the roof of her mouth. She had rehearsed her entrance on the drive over, but somehow, when she took the first tentative step in the door, all she could summon up was a weak, "Surprise..."

He turned his head slowly toward her voice. His face showed no emotion. "Jordan..." he croaked.

"Thought you could get rid of me that easily?" she said quietly and took another step in. She braced herself for the inevitable, sharp, "I had hoped so," but he said nothing.

Finally, he spoke. "I said I don't need your pity."

She sniffed hard to stop the flow of tears. She had dug to the bottom of her soul to say those words to him as they brought him in, and she had gone to the same place to summon her courage as she waited in terror for him to come out of surgery. His rejection of her stung with fresh pain.

"This isn't about pity."

"Of course it is. Don't you think I see it on your face? All the nurses and doctors come in here, and they smile and give me that look. 'Poor guy. So young. He had his future ahead of him. Too bad he'll never walk again.'"

Her mouth fell open in shock. "Is that what the neurologist said?"

"Maybe after months and months of painful rehab I'll be able to take a few steps at a time. But the great news is that at some point, I'll probably regain full bladder and bowel function, so let's pop some champagne, shall we?" he said with sarcasm. She looked numbly at the floor as the full weight of the news sank in. His lip curled up into a bitter smile. "There it is. The look."

"Woody, I..." she fumbled.

"Just go, Jordan. Go," he sighed.

"It's not pity. Don't say that."

"Then what? What is it? Why are you here, Jordan? Why?" The force of his anger stunned her. She shrugged helplessly.

"What I said to you, before they took you into the OR..."

"Don't. Don't. I waited for years for you to say those words. I did everything I could to show you how much I wanted to be with you, and you did everything you could to stall. I gave you that ring because I thought you'd finally get it, but you threw it back in my face. Now I've got nothing to give you, and all of a sudden you can't live without me? How convenient is that? You don't have to commit to someone who's dead from the waist down, do you? So tell me. Why are you here, Jordan?"

"Fine. I'm here to make you so miserable you'll want to get your ass out of bed and walk again just so you can get as far away from me as possible. How's that? I'm not going anywhere. You can hate me, you can hurl insults at me, I don't care. Because, believe me. Nothing can make me feel worse than I already feel." She huffed breathlessly when it was over.

He looked at her with narrowed eyes for a long moment and then gave an indifferent shrug. "Do whatever you want." He rolled his head impassively toward the wall.

She smiled a small, triumphant smile of relief. "Well, I've got to..." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder and shuffled awkwardly to the door. "I'll be back, Woody," she said purposefully. He showed no reaction.

Her pace lightened as she headed back down the hallway. He hadn't embraced her with open arms, but he hadn't thrown her out, either. She would take even the narrowest of openings back into his life.

It was a start.