Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Past
Two weeks later, I was in a small, rented studio apartment across town. It was cramped and smelled faintly of floor wax, but the door had a deadbolt that I controlled. I was healing, slowly.
I began taking on freelance design projects again, burying myself in the glow of the monitor until the early hours of the morning. I felt like I was haunted by the echo of Richard’s voice—every time my side ached, I expected him to walk through the door and call me lazy. The psychological toll was heavier than the surgery. I found myself checking the locks three times a night. I had to learn how to trust my own strength again. I wasn't just recovering from an appendectomy; I was recovering from a lifetime of being told my worth was tied to my productivity.
