Chapter 9 - The Long Road Back
Surgery happened on a Tuesday.
Dr. Vance anchored my labrum back down with three tiny bio-absorbable suture anchors. When I woke up in the recovery ward, my right arm felt like it had been run over by a steamroller, but the chronic, grinding instability was gone.
Caleb was there when I opened my eyes. He had brought a cup of terrible hospital coffee and a bag of gummy bears.
"How's the shoulder?" he asked, pulling a plastic chair up beside my bed.
"Like someone stapled my scapula to my ribs," I muttered, smiling weakly. "Thanks for sticking around."
"Where else would I be?" He set the coffee down. "Lena flew to Cabo with Sophia. Apparently, she decided that if she couldn't have her dream wedding, she needed a 'healing retreat.'"
"Did she reach out?"
Caleb shook his head. "Sent me a text yesterday saying I was a coward and missing out on the best thing in my life. She hasn't asked about your surgery once."
I wasn't surprised. It felt strange how little it hurt to hear that. The umbilical cord of obligation that had bound me to my sister's approval for three decades had finally snapped, and though the healing process was going to take months of grueling physical therapy, I felt lighter than I had ever felt in my life.
Over the next three months, my life shrank down to manageable, deliberate pieces.
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I attended physical therapy three times a week, gritting my teeth as therapists gently forced my frozen joint through agonizing ranges of motion. I learned how to tie my hair back with my left hand, how to sleep propped up on a mountain of wedge pillows, and how to say no without apologizing for existing.
Caleb and I became steady, grounding fixtures in each other's lives. Without the shadow of a toxic wedding hanging over us, our friendship evolved into something patient, honest, and real. We started taking long walks through the botanical gardens on Saturday mornings, just talking about books, work, and the quiet comfort of ordinary days.
