Better Left Unsaid
Copyright© 2025 by Heel
Chapter 3: Keep Your Head Up
By April, Clara’s apartment had begun to feel like a stage she’d been trapped on for too long. The immobilizaton stayed. The white cast engulfing her leg, her heel encased in plaster, the front of her foot and arch bare, suspended just above the floor whenever she moved.Each step with the crutches was a performance — rehearsed, exhausting, fragile.
Nick still came every day. He brought coffee, fruit, books, and a guilt he tried to hide behind small talk.
Sometimes she wished he wouldn’t come at all. Sometimes his voice was the only thing that made the room feel alive.
That morning he watched her from the doorway as she practiced moving from the sofa to the window.
“You’re getting better,” he said.
She shook her head. “You said that yesterday.”
“It’s still true.”
She glanced up at him, sweat beading on her brow. “You really think so?”
He smiled, hesitant but sincere. “You just have to keep your head up.”
She exhaled, almost laughing. “You and your sayings.”
“It works,” he said softly. “You just have to believe it.”
That afternoon she decided to test herself — and maybe, somewhere deep down, his words too.
The hallway outside her door was quiet, sunlight stretching across the worn wooden floor. She adjusted her grip on the crutches and started forward: one step, swing, pause — careful, rhythmic, mechanical. Her bare toes hovered just above the boards, her heel sealed safely in plaster.
Halfway down, she murmured it under her breath.
“Keep your head up.”
She obeyed her own echo — chin lifting, eyes rising, shoulders straightening in a gesture of stubborn pride.