After It Happened

The hospital room was too bright. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, pressing into the space like they were trying to fill the silence.

Arabella’s head felt heavy, too full—like if she moved too quickly, everything inside might spill out.

She didn’t know how long she’d been there. She remembered flashes: voices, hands on her shoulders, her dads' strained faces. The pain was a constant, dull throb behind her eye, wrapped around her skull. She kept her good eye closed most of the time—because when she opened it, she could feel how wrong everything was.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Her dads sat on either side of the bed, quiet. Eli’s hand rested gently on hers, fingers warm but trembling. Oscar was on the other side, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. Neither of them had said much in hours.

Arabella could barely look at them.

She kept staring at the white sheet pulled up to her chest, tracing the folds with her fingertip. Her other eye—the broken one—was wrapped up tight beneath layers of bandages. The doctors had told her she was lucky to still have it at all.

Lucky.

That word made her feel sick.

“Sweetheart?” Eli’s voice was soft, careful—like he was afraid she might break if he spoke too loudly.

Arabella didn’t answer.

He squeezed her hand a little tighter. “Do you need anything?”

Her throat felt tight. Her mouth tasted stale, but she shook her head.

Lucky.

She should’ve been lucky to be alive.
She should’ve been grateful it wasn’t worse.
But all she could think about was how broken she felt. How the whole left side of her world was just gone now—blurry shapes and shadows, nothing more.

She was never going to see the same again.