"Good job, Carlton!" Marlowe said, watching her husband struggle to lift up his leg from his seated position to touch the ball on a string the therapist was holding for him. "You did it!"

"Yeah," he said, shortly, catching his breath. He leaned over to support his head with his strong hand and closed his eyes for a moment.

It had been a month since they moved Carlton to the long-term nursing facility. It was a nice facility. The staff had been wonderful and accommodating, the building was beautiful inside and out. It seemed comfortable enough, but Marlowe couldn't shake the fear of what was going to happen next. Because in that last month since they had moved Carlton, he seemed off. In fact, ever since they visited him on New Year's Eve, he had seemed… distant.

He had made so much progress though. He was able to walk with his cane and just one person holding him up. His memory and cognition seemed to improve greatly. His words were easier to understand. They were beginning to work on his "activities of daily living"- also known as all the things he used to be able to do. On the surface, he seemed to be doing well. But Marlowe couldn't stop worrying about him. He would snap quicker than before the stroke, and he always seemed exhausted. His reactions felt completely irrelevant to any situation he was in. It felt like he couldn't read emotions anymore. He was so off, and she didn't know why.

Selfishly, Marlowe just wanted her husband home. Because even three months after the stroke, she still hated the feeling of the empty bed. The room felt too quiet without Carlton's breath lulling her to sleep, or his strong heartbeat pounding under her ear as she lay tucked against his chest. She would stay up late into the night watching old videos from before on her phone. But the way Carlton was acting right now, she was afraid of what it might be like if he actually came home with her.

"Thank you, Mike," Carlton said to the therapist as he collected his supplies and left. "See you tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Mike said, nodding towards Carlton and Marlowe as he closed the door behind him.

"You're doing so good, baby," Marlowe said, moving to sit on the side of the bed so he could hear her better. That was one of the nicest parts, Marlowe thought, about him being out of a hospital setting. The bed no longer looked like a hospital bed. It was bigger and had real sheets with a comforter instead of the stiff white ones that were supposed to make him comfortable while he was in the hospital. The whole room looked homier, like a place where someone could live rather than a place where they went to die. He no longer spent all day attached to a monitor or an IV pole, finally able to eat and drink enough to not need extra support. He would be alright here for a while, even if she would rather he didn't stay for much longer.

"Yeah," her husband said again, unenthused.

"Are you doing okay?" She asked, trying to find her husband in those soft, distracted eyes. He wouldn't look right at her, his mind always feeling miles away.

"I'm fine. Just tired." The sentences came out in short bursts, as if just opening his mouth to speak was exhausting.

"Can I do anything for you?" She prodded more, trying to get anything out of him.

"No!" He snapped, "I'm fine. Please just change the subject."

"Okay," Marlowe said softly, trying to avoid the tears that were threatening to come. "Well, Lily's birthday is coming up in a little over a month. I was thinking it might be nice if you came home for her birthday party. Even just for the day. She would love to have you there. And people would be so happy to see that you're doing well."

"I'm not doing well," Carlton said, her voice deep and gravelly in a way she had never heard before. "No one needs to see me like this."

"You are doing well, baby," Marlowe said, feeling her heart beat quicker. What is wrong with him? This doesn't sound like my Carlton.

"No, I'm not. I'm not doing well and I'm not coming home. No one wants to see me like this."

"But Lily would love-" Marlowe started to protest.

"Just drop it!" he said. He slammed his fist onto the side of the chair, the loud thump scaring Marlowe silent.

"I- I'm sorry," Marlowe said, tears stinging her eyes.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Carlton announced plainly to the room.

"I'll go get a nurse to help you."

"No! I can get myself to the damn bathroom!" he said. Quickly and sloppily, he pushed himself out of the chair, balancing on his good foot while he grabbed his cane off the bed next to Marlowe.

"Well at least let me help you walk," Marlowe offered, standing up to support her husband's back.

"No! I don't need your help! I can do it by myself! I'm a grown-ass man!" Carlton was yelling, Marlowe standing back slightly watching. She had never seen him this upset before. It was like he was yelling at her, but he wouldn't look at her. He was yelling at the room. He was mad at the universe.

"Of course you are," Marlowe tried to calm him down, taking a step towards him with her arm out. "I just want to help-"

"I don't want your-" Carlton started to gesture with his cane, but taking it off the ground took away his only support, and he immediately lost his balance. He put out his good arm to try and break his fall and Marlowe lunged forward, attempting to stop her husband as he collapsed hard onto the ground.

"Oh my gosh!" Marlowe said, rushing to help pick him up off the floor. "Are you okay?"

She reached out for his head, grateful for the padded helmet covering his soft spot, but still afraid he hit the ground.

"Go away!" Carlton yelled, breathing heavily.

"You fell! Are you hurt? Can I go get help?"

"Leave!" Carlton bellowed, louder than before. Louder than she had ever heard her husband raise his voice. Her heart dropped as she began to back out of the room, watching with clouded vision as her husband pounded his fists on the floor. "And don't come back!"

Marlowe could feel her heart stop. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think straight. Did he really just say that? How could he?

"Carlton," Marlowe started to say, trying to take a step towards him. Trying to comfort him. Tell him everything was going to work out.

"No!" He took his cane from where it had fallen next to him and threw it weakly towards her. "I mean it!"

"Okay," Marlowe whispered, barely even audible in her own ears. "I love you," she whispered into the thick air, taking one last look at her husband on his knees, supporting his weight with his strong arm, his eyes glossed over.