By the fifth morning, Willow felt different.
Not healed.
Not strong.
But herself, in small pieces — the way sunlight slowly returns after days of fog.
She noticed it first in the quiet moments: the way her thoughts came back in full sentences instead of fragments, the way her breath no longer felt like something she had to manage consciously. Her body still hurt, but it was pain she could read now, pain with rules and edges instead of chaos.
Her abdomen still pulled every time she shifted. Her steps were short, controlled. Pain pinched when she stood too long. But her blood pressure had stabilized, the hematoma had stopped expanding, and the attending finally gave the words she'd been waiting for:
"You're stable enough to go home tomorrow."
Willow blinked at her. "Home?"
The nurse smiled. "Yes. You'll still need close monitoring, and the NICU will keep Zana a little longer. But your healing will be better in a calm, comfortable place."
Calm.
