Page 58 of Shadows of Recovery

Gently, he lifted her chin, guiding her to meet his gaze. His eyes were filled with a quiet, unwavering determination. “You will get better, Sophie. It might take time, but you will heal.”

She searched his face, desperately trying to find the reassurance she needed. “Why are you so good to me, Tristan?”

His answer came without hesitation. “Because I love you. Because you deserve it. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here, fighting. That takes incredible strength.”

The sobs that had racked her body began to slow, though the tremors lingered. “I just feel so broken,” she whispered, the words raw and honest.

“We all have our broken pieces.” His voice was soft yet filled with conviction. “But it’s those pieces that make us who we are. You’re not broken, Sophie. You’re just healing. And there are a lot of people in your life to help you put those pieces back together.”

She nodded, taking a deep, shaky breath as she tried to calm herself. The truth in his words seeped into her, offering a glimmer of hope she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

Brushing a tear from her cheek, he added, “I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, the simple gesture filled with a promise she desperately needed to believe.

As the night wore on, Sophie’s exhaustion finally took over. She fell into a fitful sleep, still clinging to Tristan, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a lullaby that soothed her frayed nerves. Even in her sleep, the fear lingered, but so did his presence, grounding her, reminding her she wasn’t alone.

Twenty-Two

Sophie’s physical progress was slow but steady. Each day brought small victories, measured in movements and milestones. Tristan had arranged for specialized physical therapy sessions to help her regain her strength and mobility. He was a constant presence, especially during her first attempts at walking.

The therapy room was bright and spacious, filled with various pieces of equipment designed to aid in recovery. Sophie sat in a wheelchair, her eyes fixed on the walker in front of her. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached out to grip the one handle and use the support for her fractured arm, her legs shaking with the effort of standing, one ankle supported by a boot.

“You’ve got this, sweetheart.” Tristan stood beside her, ready to catch her if she stumbled. “Take it slow. One step at a time.”

Sophie took a deep breath, grit shining through the exhaustion on her face. She pushed herself up, her legs wobbling as they accepted her weight. She gripped the walker tightly, her knuckles white with the strain.

“That’s it, just like that,” Tristan encouraged, his eyes never leaving her. “You’re doing great.”

With Tristan’s steadying presence beside her, Sophie managed to take a few tentative steps. Each movement was a struggle, but the progress was undeniable. The physical therapist, a kind woman named Lisa, smiled warmly at her. “You’re stronger than you think, Sophie,” she said. “Keep going.”

Sophie nodded, trying to focus, her jaw clenched as she forced her legs to move. Each step felt like climbing a mountain, every muscle in her body screaming in protest. But she kept going, pushing forward, one foot in front of the other. She could feel Tristan’s eyes on her, his grip steadying her as she willed her legs to keep moving.

The room blurred at the edges, her concentration so intense that everything else faded away. Her legs trembled, each step more difficult than the last. She could hear her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, but she refused to give up. Not yet. She had to do this.

But after what felt like an eternity, her legs finally gave out, and she sank back into the wheelchair with a heavy thud. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, her muscles burning from the effort. She felt the sting of tears, but she bit them back, determined not to let the frustration take over.

Tristan was there instantly, kneeling beside her, his hand warm and comforting on her shoulder. “You did amazing,” he said softly. “I’m so proud of you.”

Sophie managed a tired smile, even as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. The words came out in a breathless whisper, but she meant every one: “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

His forehead pressed gently against hers, the simple gesture grounding her in a way that nothing else could. “You’re the one doing all the hard work. I’m just here to cheer you on.”

They stayed like that for a moment, just breathing, just being. She let the exhaustion wash over her, but she felt safe, knowing he was right there beside her. The room felt warmer, less sterile with him so close, his presence wrapping around her like a comforting blanket.

As she caught her breath, a movement at the doorway caught her attention. She looked up, blinking away the haze of fatigue, and saw a familiar face. Chris Skylar. His name came to her slowly, like a distant echo. He was the head psychiatrist at the Blackwell Institute, and he had helped her before, hadn’t he?

“Hey, Sophie,” Chris said warmly as he walked into the room. His expression was a mix of concern and relief. “It’s good to see you up and about.”

She looked at him, trying to place the memories that felt just out of reach. “Chris? Hi. It’s good to see you too.” Her voice was hesitant, unsure, but she could see the kindness in his eyes.

Chris smiled at her, that same reassuring smile she remembered, even if the details were still fuzzy. “You’re doing great. Keep pushing forward.”

Sophie nodded, but the confusion still lingered in her mind, a constant shadow she couldn’t shake. “I’m trying.”

Chris stayed for a while, just talking, giving her the space to say whatever she wanted. She didn’t have much to say, but it felt good knowing he was there, that they both were. The words didn’t matter as much as the feeling of not being alone. That, more than anything, gave her the strength to keep trying, to keep pushing forward, even when everything else felt like too much.

* * *

Later that day,Chris spoke with James and Tristan in a quiet corner of the hospital.

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