ISABELLA
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and something far too sterile to feel real.
I had spent too many days in this room, and now that I was finally being discharged, I should have felt relieved.
But instead, all I felt was weak.
Everything hurt.
The bruises on my ribs ached with every breath. My legs trembled every time I tried to stand. Even the simplest movements sent sharp pains through my body, reminding me that I wasn’t the same Isabella who had walked out of the manor that day.
I hated this.
Hated how much I struggled to even sit up, hated how my body felt foreign—like it didn’t belong to me anymore.
I gritted my teeth as I tried to shift toward the edge of the hospital bed. My legs felt like lead, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t get my feet to plant firm
