Fell in Love with My Wife Too Late

– Parallel Bars

“You’ll rip your stitches,” Edward warned as Claire tightened the brace on her leg.

“I won’t,” she said. “They healed.”

“Barely.”

“Enough.”

He sighed. “Why the urgency?”

Claire glanced at the window, where rain streaked the glass. “Because they’re watching.”

Edward followed her gaze. Across the courtyard, a glass wall separated the rehab wing from the Alpha compound’s training grounds. And there he was—Jasper Redfern. Laughing with hunters, sword strapped to his back, cloak billowing in the wind like he’d never known a burden.

He didn’t glance her way.

Claire stepped between the bars.

“Wait,” Edward said. “Let me—”

“I don’t need your hand.”

The silence that followed was heavy. She shifted her weight. Her right leg trembled. Her left locked into place.

She moved.

Step.

Pause.

Breathe.

Another step.

Her arms bore most of the weight. Sweat clung to her spine. The pain flared hot across her knee—but she didn’t stop.

Through the glass, a young trainee pointed. “Is that—?”

Jasper looked.

Their eyes met.

He blinked.

She didn’t.

Then she turned her back to him and took another step.

Edward said nothing. But when she reached the end of the rail, he exhaled softly, almost reverently.

Claire gripped the bar until her knuckles ached. “I hate that he saw me.”

Edward handed her a towel. “He saw you walking.”

“He saw me weak.”

“He saw you fighting.”

Claire’s voice cracked. “He never came, Edward. Not once.”

“I know.”

“I waited.”

“I know.”

---

Later that morning, Edward wheeled her into the diagnostics wing. “We’re doing a scan on the femur,” he said. “If the bone's healing faster than expected, we can begin weight training.”

“Good,” Claire said. “I want full mobility in six weeks.”

He blinked. “That’s... ambitious.”

“Is it?”

He smiled. “Stupidly so.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Perfect.”

The tech greeted them. “Claire, good to see you upright.”

“Don’t get used to the chair,” she replied. “It’s temporary.”

“I’ve heard.”

While the scan whirred to life, Edward stepped aside to check his messages. Claire stared at the ceiling, counting her breaths.

After a while, Edward spoke.

“They’re hosting the welcome banquet for Elodie tonight. Main hall.”

Claire didn’t respond.

“You’re not expected to go.”

“I know.”

He studied her. “But you are going, aren’t you?”

She nodded once.

“Dress?”

“Simple.”

“Hair?”

“Pulled back.”

He nodded. “Cane?”

She turned her head. “Polished like a weapon.”

---

By evening, Claire stood before the mirror in her hospital room. The navy dress hugged her waist and ended at her knees, modest and strong. She fastened the clasp of a steel bracelet—one of the few things untouched from before the crash.

Her cane gleamed, silver-tipped.

A nurse entered and froze. “You look... regal.”

Claire turned. “Thank you.”

“Would you like me to call for an escort?”

“No,” Claire said. “I’ll walk in alone.”

---

The banquet was already underway when she entered.

Music flowed from the string quartet near the dais. Chandeliers glittered. Everyone turned.

Silence spread like frost.

Claire stepped through the doors.

Cane tapping.

Dress rustling.

Her limp was subtle, dignified. Her chin never dropped.

“She came,” someone whispered.

“She looks... different.”

“No Elodie charm.”

“But steel in her eyes.”

Claire didn’t stop.

She reached the edge of the crowd.

Jasper stood beside Elodie, raising a glass. “To the Moon Goddess,” he said. “For bringing back our brightest star.”

Elodie beamed.

The crowd applauded.

Claire didn’t.

Jasper’s eyes met hers over the rim of his goblet.

For one second, he faltered.

Claire turned.

She walked toward the musicians.

There, standing beside a notary in the shadows, she murmured, “Do you have the forms?”

He nodded, already pulling them out.

Claire signed each page with deliberate strokes.

“Witness?”

“I brought my own,” she said, nodding toward a young nurse behind her.

The notary glanced at the last page. “Divorce decree,” he muttered. “You’re sure?”

Claire sealed the envelope with a crisp press of wax.

“I’ve never been more sure.”

She slipped the envelope into her clutch.

At the far end of the room, Elodie laughed at something Jasper whispered. Claire didn’t watch.

Instead, she approached a full-length mirror in the corridor outside.

She looked at her reflection—hair pulled tight, dress dark as dusk, bracelet catching light.

No jewels.

No pretense.

Only a woman with eyes like tempered glass.

She exhaled.

Tonight was not her funeral.

It was her resurrection.

---

Back in her hospital room, Edward was waiting.

“Well?” he asked.

She handed him the envelope.

“Tomorrow morning,” she said. “It goes to his desk.”

He opened it, scanned the header, and looked up. “Final?”

“Signed. Sealed.”

He looked at her for a long time. “Do you regret it?”

Claire sat, stretching her aching leg. “I regret ever waiting for him to love me.”

Edward didn’t respond.

Claire leaned back against the pillows, cane resting beside her like a sword.

“I’ll need a ride home in three weeks.”

“I’ll drive you myself.”

“I’ll need crutches by then.”

“I’ll order them.”

A pause.

Claire looked at him. “You believe I’ll walk unaided?”

Edward smiled, eyes warm. “I believe you’ll run.”