Page 56 of Shadows of Recovery

“Shh, nice slow breaths,” Tristan soothed, his hand gently squeezing hers. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You were very brave, Sophie.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as the reality of her situation sank in. “How long have I been here?”

“A few weeks,” Tristan replied. “It’s March seventh.”

She nodded weakly, her eyes closing briefly before opening again. “I’m so thirsty,” she whispered.

Tristan reached for the bedside table, where a pitcher of water and a plastic cup sat. He poured a small amount of water into the cup, then carefully placed a straw inside and brought it to her lips. “Here, drink slowly,” he instructed, his voice tender.

Sophie sipped the water, her eyes closing in relief as the cool liquid soothed her parched throat. When she had enough, Tristan set the glass down and caressed her cheek.

Her stomach growled softly, and she managed a weak smile. “I think I’m hungry.”

Tristan chuckled. “I thought you might be. Let me get you something to eat.” He typed a text message on his phone. A nursing assistant walked into the room a few minutes later with a tray of food, which he placed on her bedside table, revealing a bowl of broth, some tea, and some Jello.

“Let’s start with the soup,” he suggested, sitting down beside her. He dipped a spoon into the bowl, blowing on it gently to cool it down before bringing it to her lips. “Open wide.”

Sophie obeyed and swallowed carefully, her eyes closing in appreciation. “That’s good,” she murmured.

Tristan smiled, feeding her another spoonful. “I’m glad you like it. Just take your time.”

As he continued to feed her, Sophie watched him carefully. “You’ve been here the whole time, haven’t you?”

Tristan met her gaze, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion. “Me, or your family. You weren’t ever left alone.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“You don’t have to thank me.” His hand brushed against her cheek. “I’m so glad you’re awake.” He resisted his desire to lift her frail body into his arms and cradle her.

As they sat together in the quiet room, Tristan continued to feed her, each spoonful a small victory, a step toward recovery.

* * *

Sophie blinked awake after a nap,the soft beeping of machines around her slowly coming into focus. Her head throbbed, a dull ache pulsing behind her eyes. Instinctively, she raised her hand to her head, only to freeze as her fingers brushed against a rough bandage. Panic flared in her chest as she pressed down, feeling the uneven patches where her hair had once been thick and soft.

“What… what happened?” her voice was barely a whisper, cracked and dry.

Tristan leaned forward, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and concern. He gently took her hand away from her head, cradling it between his own. “You had a subdural hematoma,” he explained softly.

Her eyes widened. “But… my hair…?”

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “James was visiting from New York when it happened. He operated right away. He had to shave part of your hair to do the surgery, but I promise it will grow back. All of it.”

Sophie swallowed, trying to absorb everything he was saying. “I’m… I’m okay now?”

“You’re okay now,” Tristan said. “The surgery was successful. You’re going to be just fine. It’s just going to take a little time to heal, that’s all. Do you need something for your headache?”

She nodded slowly, relief mingling with the lingering fear. Tristan reached up to gently brush a stray tear from her cheek, his touch light and comforting.

“You’re strong, Sophie,” he murmured. “And we’ll get through this together. The rest of your hair will grow back, and so will your strength. I promise.”

“Okay.” Sophie managed a small, shaky smile.

As the days passed, Sophie grew stronger, and as her awareness slowly returned, she became acutely conscious of the strange, tight sensation across her face. Her fingers gingerly traced the lines of steri-strips covering her cheeks and nose, the rough texture unfamiliar and unsettling. Lowering her hand, she felt the thick bandages wrapped around her abdomen, the dull ache beneath them hinting at something more serious.

“What… what happened?” she asked, her voice weak and hoarse.

Tristan’s expression was calm but serious as he took her hand in his again, squeezing it gently, his eyes filled with a quiet strength. “You were attacked,” he said simply, his voice steady. “You were punched… hard. The force fractured some of the bones in your face.”

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