Chapter 7: The Ward

When Stella woke again, the world smelled of antiseptic and quiet. The ceiling above her was a uniform white, broken by a hanging light that hummed softly. For a moment, she couldn’t move — and then she realized why.

Both of her legs were heavy, immovable, resting on foam supports that kept them slightly raised. Her left leg was still locked straight in its original long plaster cast, the one she’d worn since the first accident. But her right leg — the one she had fallen on — was now enclosed in a fresh, solid white cast that ran from her thigh to her toes. It looked smooth and clean, the plaster neatly shaped to the contour of her leg, with soft padding showing around the top and bottom edges where it met her skin.

She could still faintly remember the process through the haze of pain and medication — the way the doctors and nurses had worked quickly after the X-rays, gently lifting and supporting her leg as they wrapped it in layers of soft cotton and bandage. Then came the wet plaster bandages, cool at first, then slowly warming as they hardened to a rigid shell. The doctor’s hands had moved steadily, shaping and smoothing the surface, pressing gently along the sides and around her ankle until the cast fit perfectly. When it dried, it became part of her — firm, protective, and impossibly heavy.