“You still have miles left in you.”
I typed a message.
Not dramatic.
No alarms.
No requests.
Just the smallest version of the truth.
Then I pressed send.
No typing dots appeared.
No reply came.
Of course not.
People like that don’t revolve around your small, ordinary life.
I stood up slowly, careful with the stitches that still tugged when I moved.
I smoothed the blouse that had lost its shape from days on a hospital hanger.
I told myself I would figure something out.
I always did.
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