I Married a Man in a Wheelchair—But What I Found Behind Our Locked Bedroom Door Took My Breath Away

The next morning, he rolled into the living room with the prosthetics resting on his lap.

“Alright. Round two.”

I crossed my arms playfully. “You sure you don’t want coffee first?”

“I’m nervous enough already.”

I helped him secure the straps more carefully this time. His skin was bruised and marked, hardened in some places, fragile in others.