Chapter 4

The month that followed passed like a slow, relentless tide.

She stayed at home, moving from room to room with the aid of crutches, the casted leg a constant reminder of the accident and its impossibility. Every step was calculated, cautious, measured—an endless negotiation with pain. The living room became a landscape of obstacles: chairs, rugs, stray books. She learned to navigate it all without falling, though the exhaustion of effort sank into her muscles like cold water.

Time stretched in the quiet apartment. Snow fell outside, unnoticed at first, accumulating on the street. She watched it through the window while sitting in the same chair, sometimes imagining herself walking freely beneath the lights again, feeling the city respond to her presence. But those thoughts were tempered by reality: the heel inside the plaster had not healed. Could not heal.