“I can’t do this.” She began moving her wheelchair away from me. “I love you, but I’m so ashamed of you right now, I can’t even look at your face.” Her words were like a punch to the gut. I wanted to follow her and apologize again, but that wasn’t how Helen worked. She didn’t want apologies; she wanted me to make up for my fuck-ups. And as I laid down on the beige leather couch and closed my eyes, one thing was clear: I had fucked up.
