Eloise
The beeping from the IV machine was soft, rhythmic, and slightly annoying. But it was the only sound I could focus on. Not the birds chirping outside the window. Or the muted buzz of hospital chatter in the hallway. Just the IV. Just that tiny, robotic reminder that I was still tethered to something. Healing, apparently. But it didn’t feel like healing. Not really.
My back was propped against two stiff pillows, hospital gown itching my collarbone, and a dull ache throbbed somewhere beneath the stitches on my lower stomach. I’d stopped asking the nurses for painkillers. I wanted to feel everything now. The discomfort grounded me.
I heard the door open before I saw him. My fingers tensed slightly against the cotton sheet.
“Eloise,” my father said. His voice was steady and firm. N
