Now just the phrase “self-pity” turned Mark’s stomach. In the weeks and months that followed his accident—his family would say “years,” but from this distance Mark saw no reason to dwell on the specific timeline—his own had been boundless and often aggressive, but in the end it had not served him. Once his least favorite—and most effective—occupational therapist succeeded in badgering him to set it down, he became less and less interested in picking it up again; now, closing in on thirty, he had less than no use for it. When exactly was he supposed to feel sorry for himself? When he pulled up in front of his cute house in his BMW? When his thoughtful and good-looking husband and their two curious, healthy children gamboled across the lawn to welcome him home? Maybe while he was smooshing s
