CassieThe next morning, I bring his breakfast, open his curtains and set the tray down on the table like always.But this time I don’t leave right away. “We’re doing physical therapy today,” I say to his back where he’s still lying in bed facing the wall. “I’ll be back at ten. Please be ready.”“No.”“Ten o’clock, Mr Petrova.”I walk out before he can argue.At ten, I’m standing outside his door again, folder in hand, trying to steady my breathing. I knock once, then open it without waiting.He’s in his wheelchair by the window, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of staying in bed all day. He’s not looking at me, just staring out at the grounds like they’re more interesting than anything I could possibly say.“I’m not doing this,” he says.“Yes, you are.”“You can’t make me.”“No, I can’t.” I walk over and set the folder down on his desk.“But I’m going to be here every day at ten until you do. So you can either get it over with now, or you can listen to me knock on your doo
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