"Mrs. Vanderbilt?"
The voice was distant, a soft ripple in a very still pond. I blinked, my gaze drifting away from the dust motes dancing in a stray beam of light. I realized I was smiling—not a wide, joyous thing, but a small, persistent curve of my lips that felt like it had been painted there.
"Hmm?" I murmured, turning my head slowly.
Dr. Thorpe sat across from me, his leather chair creaking as he leaned forward. He looked different today—less like a silhouette in a dark room and more like a concerned uncle. "I asked how you were feeling today, Sarah."
"Honestly? I’m okay," I said. The words felt smooth, lacking the jagged edges that used to catch in my throat.
"Just okay?"
I tilted my head, trying to catch a thought that was fluttering just out of reach. "Yeah. I still feel...
