The Masked Stripper is my Wife.
Loretta
I lingered at the doorway longer than I meant to, watching Asher and the physiotherapist. She stood beside him, guiding his arm through a slow, controlled stretch. His jaw was tight, breath uneven, but he followed every instruction without arguing, a rare sight.
“Good,” the therapist said. “Again,Lift , hold relax.”
Asher grunted, sweat edging his hairline. The wheelchair sat behind him, waiting. Even with the pain, there was something stubborn in his eyes.