Chapter 39__The Visit (Melissa's Parents)
One late afternoon,
Melissa's parents arrived at the hospital.
Violet saw them first, standing stiffly at the end of the hall. They were dressed too neatly for a hospital visit, clothes pressed, expressions tight and rehearsed.
Not worried. Not relieved.
Prepared.
Dannon walked with them, hands folded behind his back, posture careful. He had spent days convincing them.
pressing, reminding, asking.
Begging them, really, to at least show their faces.
He thought it would be a good surprise. Something that might make Melissa happy.
They agreed because he asked,not because she was their daughter.
"Do you want us to stay?" Violet asked quietly, turning to Melissa.
Melissa's eyes were already shining.
"Yes," she said quickly. Then hesitated. "No—maybe… give us a minute."
Hope sat fragile in her voice.
Childlike.
Dangerous.
Jeff nodded once. "We'll be right outside."
They left, the door closing softly behind them.
For a moment, it was quiet.
Melissa smiled.
"You came," she said, her voice small but warm. "I—I woke up three weeks ago."
Her mother didn't look at her right away. Her eyes drifted instead—to the machines, the chair, the wheelchair folded near the wall like something waiting.
Her father sighed.
"We know," he said. "Dannon told us."
No How are you?, No We were worried.
Her mother crossed her arms. "Honestly, Melissa, do you have any idea what kind of trouble this has caused?"
The smile on Melissa's face faltered.
"I… what?"
"That fall," her father continued, shaking his head. "You were always careless. Mingling with the wrong people. And now look at you."
Her chest tightened.
"I didn't mean to—"
"You never do," her mother cut in. "But intention doesn't fix consequences, does it?"
Melissa's fingers curled into the blanket.
"I was hurt," she whispered. "I couldn't move. I was asleep for four years."
"And now?" her father asked flatly. "What are you now?"
Silence.
Her mother's gaze dropped—pointedly—to Melissa's legs.
"Still broken," she said. "Useless."
The word struck like a slap.
Melissa sucked in a sharp breath.
"I'm in therapy," she said quickly, desperation creeping into her voice. "I can feel them now. The doctors said it's progress—"
"Feeling isn't walking," her mother replied. "And walking is the bare minimum."
Her father sighed again. "Do you know how embarrassing this is? People ask questions."
Tears burned behind Melissa's eyes.
"I thought you'd be happy," she said softly. "I thought you'd—"
Her mother's tone shifted suddenly, sharpened by interest.
"And Andrea," she said. "That boy—are you close to him now?"
Melissa froze.
"What about him?"
Her father leaned forward. "With you like this, how exactly are you going to take him? And now you're even friends with his girlfriend?"
Her mother's eyes narrowed. "Can you even make him interested? You know how important this is for the family, right?"
Something inside Melissa snapped.
All the pain, The waiting.
The screaming therapy sessions. The silence.
The hope she'd dared to feel when she saw them standing in the doorway collapsed in on itself.
"Get out."
Her parents blinked.
"What did you say?" her father asked.
Melissa screamed.
"GET OUT!"
Her voice tore through the room—raw, furious, broken.
"I survived!" she shouted, tears streaming down her face. "I woke up! I'm trying! And you come in here and call me useless? Broken? Like I deserved this? And now you're forcing me to go after someone else's boyfriend—what is wrong with you?"
Her mother recoiled slightly.
"Don't raise your voice—"
"GET OUT!" Melissa screamed again, sobbing now. "I don't want you here! I don't need you! Leave!"
The door flew open.
Violet and Jeff rushed in, panic flashing across their faces.
They took one look at Melissa—shaking, crying, breath coming in jagged sobs—then at her parents.
Jeff moved first.
"You need to leave," he said coldly.
"This is a family matter," her father snapped.
"No," Violet said, stepping protectively beside Melissa, her voice ice-sharp. "It stops being family when you're hurting her. This is abuse."
Melissa buried her face in her hands.
Jeff opened the door wider. "Now."
Dannon appeared behind them, drawn by the shouting. He took in the scene in a single glance—Melissa sobbing, Violet holding her, Jeff rigid with fury.
His jaw tightened.
"Go," he said quietly to her parents. "You've done enough."
They hesitated—just for a second.
Then they left. The door shut behind them.
Melissa broke.
Violet was at her side instantly, arms wrapping around her as Melissa cried into her shoulder.
Jeff stood guard near the door, fury tight in every line of his body.
Melissa's voice came out broken.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I thought… I really thought this time…"
Violet held her tighter.
"You were brave," she said softly. "For hoping. You did nothing wrong."
And this time— No one blamed her for that.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dannon followed Melissa's parents out.
The hallway doors swung shut behind them, cutting off the sound of Melissa's sobs—but not the damage was already done.
"Wait."
His voice stopped them.
They turned, stiff and irritated, like they'd been inconvenienced rather than expelled.
"What was that?" Dannon asked quietly.
They bristled at once.
"She screamed at us," her mother snapped. "In a hospital, no less."
"She's always been dramatic," her father added. "Everything we're doing is for her own good. We told her to try getting closer to Andrea—"
"Stop."
The word fell heavy.
Dannon stepped closer, eyes dark.
"You came to see your daughter after four years," he said, voice low and shaking with restraint, "and the first thing you did was blame her for nearly dying—and tell her to chase a boy?"
They scoffed.
"We're being honest," her mother said. "Someone has to tell her the truth. She's already useless. Right now, the only future she has is being with Andrea. That's the only way she can still be useful—"
"And the walking," her father added flatly. "She should be grateful she's alive. Not everyone gets a second chance. Dragging that leg around like it's someone else's fault—she might as well use it to get him to notice her. If love doesn't work, sympathy should—"
"Enough."
Dannon's voice cracked, sharp and dangerous. "Are you even hearing yourselves?"
They paused. Looked at each other.
Then—
They bowed their heads slightly.
"We're sorry," her mother said.
Dannon blinked.
"…Sorry?"
"Yes," her father added quickly. "We didn't mean to upset you. Everything we're doing is for your sake—to move your mother, my sister, forward."
For your sake.
To move your mother forward.
The words rang louder than any insult.
"You're apologizing," Dannon said slowly, "because I'm upset."
They exchanged a look.
"Well," her mother said carefully, "we didn't want to disappoint you. You're family. She's a girl—what use does she have if she can't even raise the family's name?"
The truth hit all at once.
They weren't sorry for what they said.
They weren't sorry for hurting Melissa.
They were sorry they had failed—to use her, to please him.
Dannon stepped back.
Something inside him went quiet.
"…I see."
They relaxed, mistaking his tone for agreement.
But he was already done.
"You don't need to visit again," he said flatly.
"What?" her mother frowned.
"Ever," he added. "If you come back, it won't be as guests."
He didn't wait for a response.
He didn't argue. He simply left.
Leaving them with their mouth agape
.
.
.
The hallway outside Melissa's room was dim. Quiet.
Guilt settled heavy in his chest. This was his fault.
He had convinced them to come. He shouldn't have.
He stopped at the door. A glass panel was set into it—clear enough to see through.
He looked.
And it hurt.
Violet held Melissa tightly, arms wrapped around her like she might shatter if let go.
Melissa cried into her shoulder—not quietly.
Brokenly.
Jeff stood close, one hand steady on Melissa's back, the other on Violet's shoulder, murmuring something meant only for them.
Dannon couldn't go in. He didn't deserve to.
So he stayed outside.
Head bowed. Heart heavy.
Standing guard—not as family, not as a savior—
But as someone who learned, too late, that some people never change,
and some doors are better left closed.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
After the incident with her parents, Melissa smiled.
She smiled when Jeff checked on her.
She smiled when Violet asked how she was feeling.
She smiled when Dannon hovered too close, afraid she is just bottling things up.
"I'm okay," she said.
No one argued.
But when night came, the smile went with the lights.The room grew quiet.
Too quiet.
Melissa turned her face into the pillow, pulling it closer, hugging it to her chest and cried.
Not loudly. Not for long.
Just enough.
She cried for the words they used. For the way they looked at her legs instead of her face.
For the way they spoke about her future like it was already decided.
Then something shifted. The sadness didn't leave.
It hardened.
Therapy became unbearable.
Her muscles screamed. Her legs shook.
Her hands blistered from gripping the bars too tightly.
Some days she failed.
Some days she collapsed before finishing.
But she never stopped showing up.
If her parents thought she was weak— Then she would prove them wrong.
.
.
.
.
.
Weeks passed.
Progress came slow and painful, measured in inches instead of steps.
Then months.
By the third month, the wheelchair stayed by the wall.
Not gone. Just unused.
Melissa stood with a walking stick, weight uneven, breath shallow.
One step, Then another.
Her legs trembled—but they held.
Jeff watched, eyes wet.
Vira screamed inside Violet's mind: Host—she's walking.
Violet didn't move.
Melissa kept going.
She walked slower now. Careful. Deliberate.
And yes—she limped.
She knew it. Everyone did.
One afternoon, Violet finally said it.
"You're limping."
"I know," Melissa replied.
"Does it hurt?"
"Sometimes."
She tightened her grip on the stick.
"But I'm walking," she said, steady. "I don't care if I limp. I don't care if it's never perfect."
She met Violet's eyes.
"As long as I can walk."
Violet smiled—not wide, not bright.
Proud.
Because Melissa didn't give up.
She took what they said to her. She took the way they left.
And she kept moving anyway.
Even if every step wasn't even— It was forward.