Bound in Stillness
Copyright© 2025 by Heel
Chapter 7: Shadows of Care
The hospital room was quiet, dim in the late afternoon light. She sat in her wheelchair. Every small movement of her arms sent jolts of fatigue through her shoulders. She felt trapped, her body a prison of casts and braces, her independence stripped away. Deep, dark depression pressed down on her chest, heavier than either leg.
The doctor entered, clipboard in hand. His steps were deliberate, measured. “How are you feeling today?” he asked, his voice calm, professional—but there was something softer underneath, a subtle attentiveness she hadn’t noticed before.
“I ... I’m ... managing,” she said quietly. Her throat tightened. “It’s hard. I feel ... helpless.”
He nodded slowly. “I know. This setback has been severe, and your frustration is natural. But you’ve been managing far better than most would. I notice the way you carefully hold your left leg, how you endure the discomfort in your right. Not many would have that patience or control.”
She looked at him, startled. There was a warmth in his gaze, a focus that lingered longer than professional distance would normally allow. It was not inappropriate, but there was something personal there, almost attentive in a way that made her heart flutter slightly, even as despair weighed her down.
“Even now, in all this, you’re ... beautiful,” he said softly, his eyes meeting hers with quiet sincerity.
She blinked, caught off guard. It wasn’t overtly flirtatious, and it didn’t feel coercive—but it carried a weight, a recognition of her presence and resilience that unsettled her in a new way.