Relief washed over me, warm and grounding. The fear I had felt didn’t vanish instantly—it settled gradually into understanding. As they helped me sit up and placed the tray across my lap, I realized how much I depended on them, not just physically but emotionally. Injuries have a way of shrinking the world, forcing trust into sharper focus. In that small bedroom, surrounded by the people who cared for me, I felt something unexpected: gratitude not only for the help but for the reminder that misunderstandings can bloom easily in moments of vulnerability. And sometimes, the door we fear is closing on us is only stuck, waiting for gentle hands to open it again.
