Unbound - Rachel's Story
Copyright© 2025 by A Kiwi Guy
Chapter 11
Back home, the dinner meal was a continuation of the calmness that had started to settle over Rachel and Matt at the Groynes. There wasn’t much need for conversation, but the atmosphere was convivial and low-key, celebrating how far they had come in a short time.
“My arts group at Linwood are going to be a hoot,” Rachel chuckled as she stacked plates. “They’ll bombard me with questions the moment I walk in. But they’re such special folk, I don’t begrudge it.”
“I have an idea,” Matt said, drying a plate. “How about I come along, and we give them a tiny demonstration of what we did at the ball?”
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “You know I don’t enjoy being the centre of attention. But ... they’re such a lovely bunch, and I know they’d be delighted. So, yes. Just promise me it won’t become my new party trick.”
Matt grinned. “Understood. Strictly a one-off.”
When the dishes were done, Rachel wheeled into the lounge. “So—what do you have in mind for the rest of the evening? Apart from the obvious, of course.”
Matt leaned on the sofa, thoughtful. “Actually, there’s a movie I’d like you to see. Have you heard of a woman named Joni Eareckson Tada?”
Rachel shook her head.
“I think her story will resonate with you. Joni’s American. When she was seventeen, she dived into shallow water, broke her neck, and became a quadriplegic. The story of what followed ... it’s extraordinary. She went through years of anger, depression, wrestling with God, even wanting to end her life. But slowly, bit by bit, she found ways to paint—holding a brush between her teeth—and discovered she still had something to give. That grew into a ministry that’s encouraged thousands of people with disabilities. And she did marry—after she’d thought it impossible. She and her husband, Ken, have walked through really hard stuff, but they’ve kept choosing each other. It’s not just a survival story—it’s about finding purpose again.”
Rachel swallowed. “That sounds ... well, it sounds a little too close to home.”
“I know. That’s why I hesitated. But I thought you might want to see what she found on the far side of despair. The movie is old—it only covers her early journey—but it captures that turning point.”
Rachel sat silent, fingers tracing the armrest of her chair. “Am I ready for this? I don’t know. But maybe I need to try. I’ll do it—if you hold me while we watch.”
Matt didn’t answer with words. He simply scooped her into his arms, carried her to the sofa, and wrapped a blanket around her. “Courage, my lady,” he murmured, queuing the film on his phone and streaming it to the TV.
The room dimmed as the story began. Rachel braced herself at the accident scene, her breath catching in her throat. At the sterile hospital wards, she felt her stomach knot, and more than once she clutched Matt’s sleeve as if to anchor herself. Yet as Joni’s determination flickered into life—awkward brush strokes, faltering prayers, the first signs of new purpose—Rachel felt something inside her begin to unclench.
By the closing credits, her cheeks were wet. Not only with sorrow for Joni, but with the shock of recognition: the griefs were the same, the longings familiar, the stubborn, impossible hope echoing her own.
She didn’t speak for a long time. The room was very still.
At last she whispered, “Matt ... will you take me to bed?”
He hesitated. “Rachel, I’m growing closer to you every day. But I don’t think either of us are ready to take that step.”
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