Chapter 4: The Return

Discharge came sooner than she expected. One morning the nurse arrived with a sheaf of forms and a folded paper that read follow-up in two weeks. The words felt both liberating and terrifying.

The hospital room that had been her entire world for days now looked smaller, stripped of its purpose. The walls had lost their authority; the clock’s tick seemed merely mechanical. She changed into her own clothes—soft jeans cut wide enough to fit over the cast, a sweater that smelled faintly of home—and felt suddenly fragile, as though the air itself might bruise her.

The porter wheeled her down the corridor. The chair’s squeak echoed off the tiled floor. She caught glimpses of people walking, unthinking in their balance: a nurse carrying a tray, a visitor juggling flowers and coffee. She watched their movements with something close to envy.

Outside, autumn had deepened. The light was thinner, the wind sharp. The porter helped her into the taxi and placed the crutches beside her. For the first time since the fall, there was no nurse or doctor hovering nearby. Only the driver’s quiet hum as traffic rolled past.

At home, everything was both familiar and altered. The hallway seemed narrower; the stairs rose like a challenge she hadn’t anticipated. She managed the first step before realizing she couldn’t bend the knee enough to climb. The absurdity of it made her laugh once, a dry sound that almost turned into tears.

She settled on the sofa instead, the leg propped on pillows. The living room was full of ordinary things—books, a cup left half-finished on the table—but they seemed distant, belonging to someone else. She felt the house breathe around her, indifferent and patient.