Chapter 22
CHAPTER 23: The Ghost and the Rain
Victory did not mean the pain was gone.
It was late October when the phantom pain flared up. A bitter storm had rolled off the coast, bringing freezing rain and a sharp drop in barometric pressure.
I woke up at 3:00 AM to the sound of stifled breathing.
Sarah was sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark.
Her prosthetic was detached, leaning against the nightstand. She was gripping her right thigh, her knuckles white, her face buried in her other arm. She was trembling.
I didn't turn on the light. I knew she hated the light when it happened.
I slid out of bed and knelt on the floor in front of her.
"On a scale of one to ten?" I asked, my voice low.
"An eight," she hissed through her teeth. "It feels like... it feels like my toes are being crushed. God, it’s so stupid. They aren't even there."
"It's not stupid. It's just the nerves misfiring. Your brain is just confused."
I placed my hands gently over hers, applying a firm, grounding pressure to the stump of her leg. The doctors had taught us this trick—sensory feedback to tell the brain where the body actually ended.
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against my shoulder. She was sweating, fighting a battle entirely within her own mind.
"I beat him," she whispered, her voice cracking. "He's gone. The trial is over. Why does it still hurt?"
"Because the body remembers, Sarah," I said, stroking her hair. "Vance is locked away. But the weather is just the weather. You're allowed to hurt."
We stayed like that for an hour. I didn't offer empty platitudes. I just held her in the dark, letting my presence be the anchor while the ghost of her missing limb raged against the storm.
Slowly, the trembling stopped. Her breathing evened out.
She lifted her head, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.
"Better?" I asked.
May you like
She looked at her prosthetic leaning against the nightstand, gleaming faintly in the streetlights filtering through the blinds.
"Yeah," she breathed. "It's passing. Let's go back to sleep."
