My sister mocked my miscarriage at her baby shower—then my mother pushed me over the balcony and the hospital truth changed everything
/
Chapter 14 / 27
Chapter 14 - Rehabilitation
I used a walker for seven weeks.
Then a cane.
My wrist surgery left a thin scar.
Physical therapy made me hate chairs.
Stand.
Sit.
Stand.
Again.
Pelvic stabilization.
Core work.
Balance.
Breathing exercises because ribs punish laughter, coughing, and existence.
The first time I walked ten minutes without stopping, I cried.
The therapist pretended not to notice.
Good.
Daniel drove me twice when Julia could not.
He never turned those rides into reconciliation opportunities.
That helped.
Once he said:
“Do you want me to come upstairs?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
No sigh.
No wounded face.
No:
After everything.
May you like
Just okay.
People reveal change in small answers.
