Chapter 11 - Leaving the Ward
|
Four weeks after the attack, the day finally came for Clara and me to leave St. Matthew’s Hospital.
Clara had reached five pounds, breathing completely on her own, her tiny cheeks filling out with healthy pink color. My burn wounds were healing, leaving faint silvery scars across my shoulder and neck—scars I no longer tried to hide, because they were proof that I had survived.
Sarah arranged for us to stay at a secure, furnished ground-floor apartment in a quiet neighborhood outside the city, protected by a private security gate.
When the nurse wheeled me out of the hospital entrance carrying Clara in her car seat, the cool autumn air hit my face like a blessing.
“Look, Clara,” I whispered, looking up at the clear blue sky. “This is the outside world. And it’s ours now.”
We arrived at the apartment mid-afternoon. Sarah had already stocked the kitchen with milk, fresh fruit, baby formula, and boxes of diapers.
I set Clara’s crib up in the sunlit bedroom near the window.
That night, for the first time in months, there was no yelling. No passive-aggressive comments from Evelyn. No heavy, intimidating footsteps of Julian walking down the hallway.
May you like
Just the soft, rhythmic sound of Clara breathing in her crib, and the quiet hum of the refrigerator.
I sat on the edge of my bed, holding a warm cup of chamomile tea, looking around the peaceful room. I was battered, scarred, and starting over from scratch with a newborn baby. But for the first time in two years, I was completely, wonderfully free.
