Life 2.0
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 6
Week 2, Day 14 – Evening
Two weeks post-op. Fourteen days of dangling, sweating, gritting her teeth through pain that Keisha swore would get better but never quite did.
Fourteen days of Brent showing up. Every session. Every time.
“Last one for today,” Keisha announced, walking in at seven with her tablet. “Let’s go for eight minutes tonight—see how you do.”
Ji-Eun groaned. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“If I wanted to kill you, I’d make it ten. Eight is generous.”
Brent was already standing, laptop closed, moving to his position without needing direction. The routine was automatic now—muscle memory for all three of them.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Never.” But Ji-Eun was smiling. “Let’s dance anyway.”
Eight minutes. Ji-Eun made it to seven before her right leg started trembling too badly to continue. Keisha called it, and Brent eased her back down with the careful confidence of someone who’d done this thirty times already.
“Good work,” Keisha said. “You’re building serious tolerance. By week four, we’ll start chair transfers.”
“Chair transfers?”
“Moving from bed to chair and back. Next step toward independent mobility.” Keisha packed up her supplies. “But for now—rest. See you tomorrow morning.”
After she left, Ji-Eun looked at Brent. “You don’t have to keep coming. I know you have work, a life outside this hospital room—”
“I want to be here.”
“Brent—”
“I mean it, Ji-Eun. I’m not staying out of obligation. I’m staying because...” He trailed off, looking uncertain. “Because I want to.”
“Why?”
The question hung between them. Brent was quiet for so long Ji-Eun thought he wouldn’t answer. Then:
“Because you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. Because you make me laugh even when I know you’re in pain. Because watching you stand on one leg for eight minutes feels more important than any brief I’ve ever written.” He paused. “And because I think about you all the time, and I’m pretty sure that means something.”
Ji-Eun’s heart stuttered. “Brent—”
“You don’t have to say anything. I just ... I wanted you to know.”
She should tell him to leave. Should protect them both from whatever this was becoming. Should remember that she was broken, incomplete, not someone who could ask another person to—
“I think about you too,” she whispered.
Brent’s expression transformed—hope and relief and something that looked dangerously like joy.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He moved closer, then stopped himself. “Can I—is it okay if I—”
“Come here.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle her. Ji-Eun reached for his hand, threading their fingers together. It felt right. Natural. Like his hand at her waist during sessions, like her grip on his shoulder, like all the small touches that had been building into something neither could deny.
“This is complicated,” she said.
“I know.”
“I’m not even sure what I am anymore. Who I am.”
“You’re Ji-Eun. That hasn’t changed.”
“Everything’s changed.”
“Not everything.” Brent squeezed her hand gently. “You’re still sharp enough to eviscerate me verbally. Still stubborn enough to argue with Keisha about session lengths. Still brave enough to let me see you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Vulnerable. Real. Not performing competence for everyone around you.”
Ji-Eun blinked back tears. He saw too much. Understood too much. It should terrify her.
Instead, it felt like relief.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted.
“Do what?”
“Any of it. Dating someone who saw me lose a leg. Trusting you won’t wake up one day and realize you made a mistake. Believing I could be someone worth—” Her voice cracked.
“Stop.” Brent’s voice was firm. “You are worth it. Worth staying. Worth showing up for. Worth every minute I spend in this room.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
The certainty in his voice undid her. Ji-Eun pulled him closer—awkward with the hospital bed rails, with her body that didn’t move the way it used to—and kissed him.
Soft. Tentative. Tasting of coffee and hope and terrifying possibility.
When they broke apart, Brent was smiling.
“Definitely worth it,” he murmured.
Ji-Eun laughed through tears. “Shut up.”
“Make me.”
So she did.
Week 3, Day 17 – Morning
Keisha walked in carrying different supplies. Instead of the usual bulky wrapping materials, she had soft compression bandages and inspection tools.
Ji-Eun noticed immediately. “What’s that?”
“Time for a stitch check.” Keisha set everything down on the bedside table. “It’s been just over two weeks—we need to see how the incision’s healing, make sure there’s no infection, check suture integrity.”
“You mean unwrap it.”
“Partially, yes.”
Ji-Eun’s hands clenched in the sheets. She’d known this was coming—Keisha had warned her days ago—but knowing didn’t make it easier.
Brent stood from the corner chair. “Want me to step out?”
“No.” Ji-Eun’s voice came out sharper than intended. “Stay. Please.”
Keisha glanced between them, then nodded. “Alright. Brent, same position as always—left side, ready to steady her if needed. Ji-Eun, we’re going to unwrap the outer layers, leave the immediate dressing intact unless I see something concerning.”
The process took longer than Ji-Eun expected. Layer after layer of gauze and compression wrapping, Keisha’s hands efficient but gentle, until finally—
The residual limb emerged. Still wrapped at the incision site, but the shape visible now. Real. Undeniable.
Ji-Eun couldn’t look. Couldn’t force her eyes down to see what she’d become.
“Looking good,” Keisha said clinically. “No signs of infection, minimal swelling at this stage. The splint’s doing its job—keeping everything stable.” She gently manipulated the area, checking for heat, drainage, concerning discoloration. “Does this hurt?”
“No. Just ... pressure.”
“Good. That’s what we want.” Keisha wrapped fresh compression bandages—lighter, less bulky than before. “We’ll do this every few days now. By week four, we’ll be down to minimal dressing for most of the day.”
After she left, silence settled over the room. Ji-Eun still hadn’t looked. Still couldn’t.
“Hey.” Brent’s voice was gentle. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“Ji-Eun—”
“I said I’m fine.” She heard the snap in her voice, hated it, couldn’t stop it. “Can we just do the session? Get it over with?”
Brent hesitated, then nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”
The dangling session felt mechanical. Ji-Eun stood, swayed, counted seconds until Keisha called time. No jokes. No banter. Just endurance.
Afterward, Brent tried again: “Want to talk about—”
“No.”
“Okay.” He returned to his laptop, giving her space she wasn’t sure she wanted but desperately needed.
Week 3, Day 19 – Afternoon
Keisha unwrapped the residual limb again, this time going further. The dressing closest to the incision came off, revealing the suture line for the first time.
Ji-Eun looked.
The incision ran along the end of her residual limb—neat, professional, held together with what looked like tiny staples rather than traditional stitches. The skin around it was mottled pink and white, healing but still angry-looking.
Her stomach lurched.
“Textbook healing,” Keisha announced. “Seriously, Ji-Eun—this looks fantastic. Your surgeon did beautiful work, and your body’s cooperating. Sutures can come out in a few days.”
“Beautiful work.” Ji-Eun’s laugh came out bitter. “That’s one way to describe it.”
“I’m serious. I’ve seen a lot of residual limbs—some heal complicated, some don’t. Yours is doing great.”
After Keisha rewrapped and left, Ji-Eun sat in heavy silence. Brent closed his laptop.
“Don’t,” she said.
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that. Like I’m fragile. Like you’re trying to figure out how to fix me.”
“I’m not trying to fix you.”
“Then what?” Ji-Eun’s voice rose. “Why are you even here, Brent? Why do you keep showing up for someone who’s—who’s—”
“Who’s what?”
“Broken! Incomplete! Someone who’ll never be whole again!”
The words hung between them. Ji-Eun immediately wanted to take them back, wanted to rewind, wanted to not be the person who’d just said that out loud.
Brent stood. Moved to the bed. Sat carefully on the edge.
“You’re right,” he said quietly. “You’re not the same person you were three weeks ago. Your body’s different. Your life’s different. Everything’s different.”
Ji-Eun’s throat closed.
“But broken?” Brent shook his head. “No. You’re not broken. You’re healing. There’s a difference.”
“I lost my leg.”
“Yeah. You did. And that’s awful and unfair and I’m so sorry it happened.” He reached for her hand. “But you’re still here. Still fighting. Still standing on one leg for eight minutes when most people would’ve given up.”
“Most people wouldn’t have a choice.”
“Everyone has a choice. You could go through the motions. Let Keisha push you through therapy while you count down days until discharge.” Brent squeezed her hand. “But you don’t. You push yourself. You make terrible jokes about left feet. You insist on leading when we dance.”
“That’s not bravery. That’s just ... getting through it.”
“That’s exactly what bravery is.”
Ji-Eun looked at him—really looked—and saw no pity. No careful sympathy. Just steady certainty that she was worth every minute he’d spent here.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
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