Stella
The first time I stood after surgery, I understood—truly understood—why people looked haunted when they talked about childbirth.
It wasn't the pain alone. It was the fact that my body didn't feel like mine yet. It was the strange emptiness where my daughter should've been, paired with the sudden heaviness of stitches and swelling and bandages. It was the way the hospital room smelled like antiseptic and warm blankets and quiet panic.
"Okay," the nurse said, in that cheerful, practiced way. "We're going to stand. Nice and slow."
Caspian was on my right, one hand hovering near my ribs, the other hovering near my elbow like he couldn't decide which part of me needed protecting most. His hair was still a mess from travel and stress. His eyes were bloodshot in a way that made my ches
