The morning sun spilled across the silk sheets of our primary suite, muted and soft, filtering through the heavy velvet curtains that usually stayed drawn until noon. For the first time in months, I didn't wake up to the sound of Jason’s sharp, impatient voice barking into a headset or the heavy, oppressive silence of his disapproval. Instead, the room smelled like a royal botanical garden—a thick, cloying sweetness that made my head swim as I drifted toward consciousness.
I blinked my eyes open, shifting my weight instinctively, and let out a sharp, jagged gasp. The weight of the cast was a sudden, jarring anchor, a chalky reminder of the reality I had tried to sleep away. My left arm felt heavy and alien, a slab of plaster that throbbed in time with my heartbeat. But as my vision cleare
