PART 2 — The Man in Bed 213
When I opened my eyes, the world came back in pieces.
First, the sound.
A steady beep. A soft hiss. Shoes whispering across polished floors. Somewhere far away, someone laughed, and the laugh felt offensive because I was not sure I was alive yet.
Then came the pain.
It bloomed under my ribs, dull and deep, like someone had planted a stone inside me and stitched my skin closed around it. I tried to move, but my body refused. My eyelids fluttered. The ceiling above me was white, blurred at the edges, haloed by fluorescent light.
“Jessica?”
A woman’s voice. Gentle. Professional.
I forced my eyes to focus.
Nurse Clara stood beside me, the same nurse who had checked my bracelet before surgery. Her gray hair was pinned tight, but one curl had escaped near her temple. Her eyes were wet.
That frightened me more than the pain.
“Am I…” My throat felt like sandpaper. “Am I dead?”
Her mouth trembled into a smile.
“No, sweetheart. You’re very much alive.”
Alive.
The word cracked something open in me.
