Life 2.0
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 11: Proving Ground
Week 13, Day 96 – Practice Runs
“Eight hours,” Keisha said during Monday’s therapy session. “That’s your goal this week. Can you stay in your prosthetic for a full workday?”
Ji-Eun had been building up. Four hours, then five, then six. But eight hours straight—standing, walking, sitting in awkward office chairs—was different.
“I don’t know,” Ji-Eun admitted.
“Then let’s find out.” Keisha pulled up her schedule. “This week, I want you simulating work days. Put the prosthetic on at 8 AM, keep it on until 5 PM. Do normal activities—walking, standing, sitting at a desk. See where you hit your limit.”
“And if I hit it at hour four?”
“Then you know you need accommodations. Breaks, ability to remove the prosthetic, whatever.” Keisha met her eyes. “But I don’t think you will. You’ve been walking four to six hours daily for two weeks. Adding two more hours with breaks? You can handle it.”
That afternoon, Ji-Eun started her trial. Prosthetic on at 8 AM. She spent the morning doing mock work—sitting at Brent’s kitchen table with her laptop, reviewing old case files she’d saved, practicing the mental focus required for legal work.
By noon, her residual limb was sore. Not painful, just ... aware. She took a lunch break, elevated her leg, checked for hot spots. Everything looked good.
Afternoon: more sitting, some walking around the condo, standing while reading documents. By 3 PM, she was tired. By 5 PM, she was exhausted.
But she’d done it.
“Eight hours,” she told Brent that evening, prosthetic finally removed, her residual limb red but uninjured. “I made it eight hours.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a truck. But I did it.”
“That’s day one. Tomorrow will be easier.”
He was wrong. Tuesday was harder. Wednesday was brutal. By Thursday, Ji-Eun’s body had started adapting—the soreness lessened, the fatigue hit later in the day. Friday, she made it to 6 PM before removing the prosthetic.
“You’re ready,” Keisha pronounced after Friday’s assessment. “Your endurance is there. You can handle a workday.”
“Physically, maybe. But what about—” Ji-Eun gestured vaguely. “Everything else? People staring, asking questions, treating me different?”
“That’s the hard part,” Keisha admitted. “And I can’t prepare you for that. You just have to face it.”
Week 14, Day 105 – Wardrobe Crisis
Ji-Eun stood in her closet—technically Brent’s guest closet, but hers now—staring at the professional wardrobe she’d moved from her old apartment. Suits, dresses, heels.
So many heels.
She pulled out a pair of black pumps, examined them. The Empower ankle could adjust to different heel heights—Marcus had shown her—but she’d only practiced with flats. The thought of walking into her firm in three-inch heels made her stomach clench.
“What’s wrong?” Brent asked from the doorway.
“I don’t know what to wear.”
“To work?”
“To work. To prove I’m still professional. To look like I belong there.” She held up the heels. “I used to wear these every day. Now I don’t even know if I can walk in them.”
Brent came into the closet, looked at her wardrobe critically. “So practice. You’ve got ten days. Figure out what works.”
That weekend, Ji-Eun tried on every professional outfit she owned. Some pants were too tight around the prosthetic. Some skirts showed too much of the carbon fiber pylon. Heels were awkward—possible, but nerve-wracking.
She settled on: tailored pants (slightly looser than she used to wear), low heels (one inch, manageable), blazers that made her look polished but not overdressed.
Sunday afternoon, she did a full dress rehearsal. Professional outfit, prosthetic, makeup. She walked around the condo for an hour, getting used to the different weight distribution with heels, the way the pants draped over the prosthetic.
“You look good,” Brent said.
“I look like I’m trying too hard.”
“You look professional. You look like you.” He smiled. “They’re going to be happy to have you back.”
“Or they’re going to regret saying yes.”
“Ji-Eun—”
“Sorry. I’m just—I’m terrified, okay? What if I can’t do this? What if I’m too slow, or I get tired, or someone asks about my leg and I fall apart?”
Brent pulled her close. “Then you handle it. Same way you’ve handled everything else. One step at a time.”
She wanted to believe him. Wanted his certainty to transfer to her. But all she felt was fear.
Week 15, Day 108 – Trial Run
Wednesday morning, Ji-Eun did a trial commute. Brent drove her to her firm’s building, dropped her at the curb.
“I’ll be at the coffee shop across the street,” he said. “Call when you’re ready.”
“You don’t have to wait—”
“I’m waiting.”
The firm occupied floors 12-15 of a downtown high-rise. Ji-Eun walked through the lobby—marble floors, slightly slippery, the Empower adjusting to the surface. Security guard nodded at her. Elevator to the twelfth floor.
The doors opened onto familiar territory. Reception desk, firm logo on the wall, the smell of expensive coffee and desperation.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked—someone new, hired in the past three months.
“I’m Ji-Eun Park. I work here. Just doing a practice run before I return next week.”
Recognition dawned. “Oh! Yes, Margaret mentioned you’d be back. Welcome.”
Ji-Eun walked through the office, retracing old routes. Her old desk—occupied by someone else now, covered in unfamiliar personal items. The conference rooms. The file room. The break room.
Everything was the same. Everything was different.
She tried navigating to the courthouse—two blocks away, manageable distance. The route included uneven sidewalks, a busy intersection, courthouse steps (handrail available, thank God). She made it up the steps, through security, into the building she’d visited hundreds of times before.
It felt surreal. Like visiting a past life.
By the time she returned to the coffee shop, she was exhausted and near tears.
Brent took one look at her face and said, “Rough?”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Everything. It just—it doesn’t feel right. Like I’m pretending to be someone I used to be.”
Brent paid for their coffees, led her to a quiet corner table. “You’re not pretending. You’re adapting.”
“It’s not the same.”
“No. It’s not.” He took her hands. “But Ji-Eun, you walked through your office building and to the courthouse. You navigated everything you’ll need to navigate for work. Physically, you can do this.”
“But mentally—”
“Mentally, you’re scared. That’s normal. But you won’t know if you can handle it until you try.” He squeezed her hands. “And I’ll be here. Every night when you come home. Ready to listen, to help, to just be there.”
“What if I fail?”
“Then we figure out plan B. But I don’t think you will.”
Week 16, Day 112 – The Return
Monday morning. Week 16. Day 112 post-accident.
Ji-Eun woke at 6 AM, stomach already churning. She went through her routine with mechanical precision: shower, skin check, liner, prosthetic. Professional outfit—charcoal pants, cream blouse, navy blazer, one-inch heels. Makeup. Hair.
She looked in the mirror. She looked like herself. Pre-accident self. Professional paralegal self.
Except for the slight asymmetry in her stance. The knowledge that under her left pant leg was carbon fiber and titanium instead of bone and muscle.
“You ready?” Brent asked from the bedroom doorway.
“No.”
“Good. If you weren’t nervous, I’d be worried.” He handed her coffee. “You’re going to be great.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do. Because you’re the woman who walked a half-mile two weeks after getting her prosthetic. Who learned to use an iWALK in one therapy session. Who’s been working eight-hour days for two weeks.” He kissed her forehead. “You’ve got this.”
Brent drove her downtown. Parked at the curb outside her building.
“Call me when you’re done,” he said. “I’ll pick you up.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
Ji-Eun took a breath. Opened the car door. Stood on the sidewalk with her briefcase (lighter than she used to carry, accommodating her balance needs) and her terror and her determination.
“Here goes nothing,” she muttered.
The lobby. The elevator. The twelfth floor.
Margaret was waiting at reception. “Ji-Eun! Welcome back. You look wonderful.”
“Thank you.”
“Let me show you to your new desk. We’ve reorganized a bit since you left.”
New desk. Corner of the office, quieter than her old space. Someone had left a small potted plant and a “Welcome Back” card signed by half the office.
“We’re easing you back in,” Margaret said. “Light workload this week. Document review, some research. Nothing deadline-critical. Just getting you back into the rhythm.”
“I can handle full workload—”
“I know. But we’re being cautious. Doctor’s orders.” Margaret smiled. “Take the easy week. You’ve earned it.”
After Margaret left, Sarah appeared at Ji-Eun’s desk. “Oh my God, you’re back! How are you? How’s the—” She gestured vaguely at Ji-Eun’s legs.
“Prosthetic. It’s called a prosthetic. And I’m fine.”
“Right. Of course. Sorry.” Sarah lowered her voice. “Listen, if you need anything—like, I don’t know, help carrying files or extra breaks or whatever—just ask. We’re all here to support you.”
“Thanks, Sarah.”
After Sarah left, Ji-Eun sat at her new desk and stared at her computer screen. Three months ago, she’d been preparing for a major deposition. Today, she was reviewing routine discovery documents and trying not to cry from the surreality of it all.
Her phone buzzed. Text from Brent: How’s it going?
She typed back: Surviving. Feels weird.
That’s normal. You’ve got this.
Week 16, Day 112 – First Afternoon
By lunch, Ji-Eun had reviewed forty pages of discovery documents, flagged relevant items, and made notes for the associate attorney handling the case. Routine work. Easy work. Work she could do in her sleep.
But also proof she could still do it.
She ate lunch at her desk—less energy required than navigating to the break room, dealing with more awkward conversations. Her residual limb was sore but manageable. She elevated it slightly under the desk, hidden from view.
2 PM, the managing partner stopped by her desk. Thomas Chen, senior partner, the man who’d ultimately approved her extended leave.
“Ji-Eun. Good to see you back.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chen.”
“How are you settling in?”
“Fine. The work is...” She gestured at her screen. “Familiar.”
“Good. We’ve missed having you here. Your attention to detail is unmatched.” He paused. “If you need any accommodations—ergonomic adjustments, schedule flexibility, whatever—let Margaret know. We want this to work.”
After he left, Ji-Eun sat in stunned silence. We want this to work. Not “we’re tolerating your return” or “we’re giving you a chance.” We want this to work.
Maybe—just maybe—this would be okay.
By 4 PM, her residual limb was screaming. The socket pressed against tender spots, the liner was damp with sweat, her muscles ached from the unfamiliar desk chair.
She made it to 5 PM. Barely.
Brent was waiting at the curb, exactly where he’d been that morning. She climbed into the car, collapsed against the seat.
“How was it?” he asked.
“Exhausting. Awkward. Surreal.” She looked at him. “But I did it. I made it through day one.”
“Proud of you.”
“I reviewed discovery documents and took a long lunch. That’s not exactly heroic.”
“You went back to work three months after losing your leg. That’s pretty damn heroic.”
At home, Ji-Eun removed the prosthetic immediately. Her residual limb was angry-red, indented from the socket. She elevated it, iced it, and wanted to cry from the relief of being done.
Brent brought her dinner on the couch. “You okay?”
“Just tired. And sore. And—” She stopped. “Thank you. For driving me. For being here when I got home. For not asking me if I’m sure about this.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“I don’t know. Ask me again on Friday.”
Week 16, Day 113-115 – Building Rhythm
Tuesday was slightly easier. Wednesday, easier still. By Thursday, Ji-Eun had fallen into a rhythm—morning routine, commute, work, exhaustion, home.
Her colleagues were treating her differently. Not overtly—no one made cruel comments or discriminatory remarks. But there were differences. People spoke more carefully around her. Offered help she didn’t need. Avoided assigning her anything too complex.
Thursday afternoon, an associate attorney—David, someone she’d worked with extensively before the accident—stopped by her desk.
“Hey, Ji-Eun. Got a minute?”
“Sure.”
“I’m working on a motion to compel. The opposing counsel is stonewalling on discovery. I need someone to go through their objections and find the weak points.” He handed her a file. “You were always better at this than me. Think you can take a look?”
Ji-Eun took the file. Complex work. Real work. Work that mattered.
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