Isabella
When the doctor said treatments were going to start promptly, I didn't think he meant it literally. That was the only thought that echoed in my head when I found myself back in the hospital barely two days after my last visit.
The rehabilitation room smelled faintly like antiseptic and rubber flooring. I already hated it, and that was me being kind.
By the second hour, my entire body ached so badly I could barely think straight.
“Again,” the therapist said gently from beside me.
I gritted my teeth harder around the frustration building in my chest and tightened my grip against the parallel bars.
Sweat clung uncomfortably to the back of my neck while my injured leg trembled violently beneath my weight.
God.
I hadn’t realized how weak it had become until now.
Every movem
