Before I knew it, the New Year was here.
The last few weeks had slipped by quietly like the world was giving me space to gather whatever shattered pieces of myself were left. The days were soft, nothing dramatic, nothing sharp enough to reopen wounds. Just… healing. Slow, reluctant healing.
The doctor had come by three times a week, redoing my stitches, checking the beat of the heart inside me like it was a fragile machine that needed constant monitoring. He pressed his stethoscope to my chest each time with a seriousness that made my breath freeze. And every time he said, “Your heart sounds strong,” something warm and unfamiliar spread through me. Relief. Hope. Maybe both.
Things with Adeline and her parents had been… unexpectedly good. Better than good. Strange, in a comforting way.
