I spent Sunday at home with Nate and Aarti. We watched a movie, played Scrabble and Twister, ordered takeout for dinner and had ice cream for dessert. Despite the ache in my chest that never quite left, their presence managed to coax genuine laughter out of me, moments of lightness I didn't think I was capable of anymore.
When I returned to work Monday morning, the curious glances and poorly concealed whispers from the previous week had evolved into something sharper, more pointed. Word had clearly spread.
"Well, well, look who's back," one of the nurses announced from the break room, her voice carrying across the hallway with deliberate clarity. "Jackson Ivory chews women up and spits them out. Some people just have to learn the hard way."
"She actually thought she was different," anot
