Elaine
Two weeks. That’s how long Ryne had been gone. It felt longer, somehow—like the days had stretched themselves out in his absence, each one a little quieter, a little more settled. By the time I was fully recovered from my ordeal, the cast had come off, and I’d spent another week coaxing my muscles and joints back into motion. It hadn’t been easy. There were moments I’d stared at my own body in frustration, willing it to remember how to move, how to stretch, how to run. But now, finally, I felt whole again. Strong. Ready.
I stood in front of the bedroom mirror that morning, flexing my fingers, rolling my shoulders, testing the limits of my restored mobility. The ache was gone, replaced by a quiet hum of readiness. I was eager to resume a normal life—though I wasn’t entirely sure wh
