“Oh, for fuck’s sake. This is the stupidest, most idiotic . . . Fine!” She scowled harder at her reflection. “These clothes are coming off. Then I’m going to shower so I feel like a real human being. And then I’m going to put on tight-fitting yoga clothes, because those are my instructions.”

In fact, her physical therapist, Russ Ilg, had instructed her to arrive in black yoga pants and a tight-fitting black T-shirt. FYI, he was bringing chalk and she shouldn’t be surprised if she became the blackboard.

“I don’t want to hear it from you,” she continued ruthlessly. “This is how it’s gonna be. So just . . . take a break or something, Melvin. Because life goes on and I’m sick of being stuck in this house, wearing my husband’s clothes and smelling like an animal in the zoo. It’s been six weeks and I . . . I gotta do something. I’m not meant for lying around. If you are me, surely you know that, Melvin. Surely you understand.”

Alex materialized in the mirror, appearing in the doorway behind her. “Is it working?”

“Fuckety fuck fuck fuck.”

“I’m going to take that as a maybe.”

“Fuck.”

“Shall we?” He walked into their bedroom and gestured to her top, really his own oversize shirt, buttoned over her left arm.

“Fine.”

He started with the top button and worked his way down. There had been a time in D.D.’s life when having this man slowly but surely undress her in front of a full-length mirror would’ve had her knees shaking in breathless anticipation. Now she mostly felt numb.

No, she felt broken, weak and useless. Which was worse than numb. Numb would’ve been a step up.

Alex eased the shirt from her shoulder. He unhooked her bra in the back, then carefully slid the strap down her injured left arm. A mere touch, and she hissed as inflamed nerves screamed their protest.

Her husband’s blue eyes met hers in the mirror, quietly apologetic as he finished removing the top half of her wardrobe, then transitioned to the bottom. Her sweatpants were easier. Socks, underwear. They were in the homestretch.

Alex turned on the showerhead, offering her his arm as she climbed into the tub. His turn to strip; then he joined her in the narrow space. Again, an activity that two months ago would’ve been hot and sexy, and now was just a painful parody of what could happen to a couple in three seconds or less.

She wet her hair, but it took Alex’s assistance to wash and rinse. Then, water still running, he assisted her out of the tub, wrapping a huge bath sheet around her shoulders for warmth, before leaving her to stand there, like a two-year-old waiting for parental assistance, while he finished his own ministrations, then joined her on the bath mat.