The first thing I heard after surgery was rain.
It tapped softly against the hospital window.
For several seconds, I did not remember where I was.
Then I moved.
Pain answered immediately.
My left leg was elevated beneath a thick white blanket.
A rigid brace surrounded it.
An IV line ran into my arm.
I stared at the ceiling.
Then everything returned.
Gloria.
The rolling pin.
Nathan.
The kitchen floor.
His voice.
Let her learn to obey.
I closed my eyes.
A nurse named Melissa entered.
“You’re awake.”
I nodded.
“How bad is the pain?”
“Six.”
She checked the monitor.
“Your surgeon said everything went well.”
I looked at my leg.
“How bad was it?”
Melissa hesitated.
“The doctor should explain the details.”
That meant bad.
She adjusted my medication.
Then she asked whether I felt safe receiving visitors.
I almost laughed.
“No.”
She nodded immediately.
“Then nobody comes in without your approval.”
Those words nearly made me cry.
Approval.
Such a small word.
Nathan had spent years teaching me that approval belonged to him.
What I wore.
