“Left zygomatic ridge... healed,” I say as if by rote, my voice steady. Clinical. “Hairline ridge... present. Eye tracking... normal.”
And that’s it.
Patricia nods.
I return to my seat.
The rest of the session blurs. People share stories. Strategies. Small victories and massive setbacks.
Nico catches my eye at one point. Gives me a nod that says:You did the thing.
The second Patricia says “That’s all for tonight,” I’m moving.
Mask on. Cap pulled low. Phonesnatched from the basket before anyone can corner me with their well-meaning solidarity bullshit.
I hit the door like the building’s on fire.
Behind me I hear Nico call out something. Probably “See you next week” or some other optimistic crap.
I don’t turn around. Don’t acknowledge. Just push through into the night air like a man who just barely escaped drowning.
Pathetic. Racing away from the only people who actually understand what this is like.
But I can’t handle their kindness right now. Can’t stomach another person looking at my scar and telling me it’s not that bad or time heals all wounds or whatever platitude they’ve got loaded up.
I just need to get to the vehicle. Get home. Get back behind my locked door where no one can see me.
Jag is waiting by the SUV and immediately opens the door for me.
“Let’s go!” I tell him as I climb into the SUV. The nerve pain spikes as soon as I settle into the seat. It’s sharp and hot like someone’s dragging coals across my collarbone.
All I can do is grin and bear it.
When we’re finally on the road, I grab my phone and text Jess:Made the circle.
Her response comes with a photo attached. A drawing Ben made, taped to the fridge, of a stick figure with a cape. “Daddy Being Brave” is written in wobbly letters across the top.
Something in my chest cracks wide open and I have to look away from the screen before the sudden burning behind my eyes turns into full-blown tears.
I touch the N95 mask at my face. The cap pulled low on my head.
Brave. Not sure howbraveI am.
Not yet.
I’m still not ready to show Jess my face.
Not ready to see whatever expression crosses hers when she realizes what I’ve become.
But soon.
Maybe.
And that will be real bravery.
Jess.
The woman who saved my life. Who kept my daughter from seeing me turned into hamburger. Who sleeps down the hall from her taking care of everything while I hide like a coward.
