–Livana–
I stared at the dextrose for a long moment, watching the slow, steady drip as though it were a metronome counting down the seconds of stillness I was allowed before the world demanded something of me again. My husband was across the room, quietly inspecting the meal my mother-in-law had prepared. Tomorrow, we will finally be discharged. Dr. Green insists on continued monitoring, of course — a precaution I cannot protest, not when it grants me silence and an alibi for rest.
I have been careful. I have tried, with every willful shred of discipline, not to overthink. But there are nights where my mind refuses to still, and sleep becomes a distant idea I can only chase and never claim.
