Irina
The walk back to the bedroom felt longer than usual, every step weighed down by the soreness in my muscles. Today’s session had been particularly intense. The new exercises my physiotherapist introduced were supposed to loosen the tight knots that had built up over weeks of inactivity, but they’d also left me feeling like a marionette whose strings had been pulled too hard.
I trailed my fingers along the wooden banister as I climbed the stairs, my mind drifting to Noah. He had insisted on building a gym in the villa, complete with state-of-the-art equipment and a private therapy room. It was a thoughtful gesture—one that kept me from the prying eyes of hospital staff and strangers alike—but I couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed by the lengths he went to for me.
Reaching the bedroom
