Chapter 15
Episode 15
They thought my life would end, but he made it continue
The room was quiet, the kind of quiet that follows a storm—not the peace of calm, but the stunned silence of wreckage. I lay in the hospital bed, my body a map of pain I hadn’t yet learned to read. The fluorescent lights above me buzzed like trapped insects, their cold glow bleaching everything white: the sheets, the walls, the face of the nurse who had just checked my vitals and pronounced me stable. That word, stable, was supposed to comfort me. It didn’t. I still smelled the blood—copper and iron—clinging to the air even after they’d cleaned the floor and changed my gown. My son was somewhere in this building, a few floors away, being weighed and measured by people who had no idea how close they came to telling my story without me in it.
I wanted to get up. I wanted to rip out the IV and run down the hall and find him. But my legs were lead, my arms were cement, and every breath felt like I was being stitched back together from the inside.
Then the door clicked open. Soft. Careful. As if whoever was entering was afraid of breaking something.
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