Three weeks. Three agonizing weeks of confinement within the sterile, suffocating walls of the hospital. The sharp, medicinal smell of sterilizers clung to my skin, a reminder of every sleepless night and every echoing memory I wished I could forget. But today, I was finally free of it-free of the cold, clinical whispers and pitiful glances from doctors who didn't know how to meet my eyes.
I packed the few things I owned in silence. The contents of this prison-like room were sparse, just as my life felt now. Clothes folded neatly into a small bag, a book I couldn't bring myself to read, and a sketch pad with blank pages that once overflowed with life. I zipped the bag shut, the sound slicing through the silence like a blade.
The hallway stretched before me, long and daunting. As I walked
