LAVENDER’S POV
The discharge papers feel heavier than they should. They’re thin, crisp sheets, tucked neatly into a brown envelope the nurse hands me with a practiced smile, but my fingers tremble as I take them. Maybe it’s the weakness still lingering in my body. Maybe it’s the memory of blood, pain, and fear that hasn’t quite loosened its grip on my chest.
Or maybe it’s because part of me knows, leaving the hospital doesn’t mean the danger is over. “You’re officially free,” the nurse says kindly. “But strict bed rest, no stress. And if you feel anything off, anything at all, you come straight back.” I nod, even though my mind is already racing ahead.
Free, the word feels ironic. Aunty Tracy has her arm around my shoulders as we walk slowly toward the exit, her grip protective, steady.
