Chapter Two

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed.

For three years, Julian had always been there when I woke up. He would bring me a warm glass of water, gently stretch my stiff left leg, and help me sit up. Today, the space beside me was cold and unpressed.

I sat up slowly, the dull ache in my leg reminding me of my reality. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, leaning heavily on the nightstand until the shooting pain subsided. I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and walked down the hallway without holding onto the walls. It was painful, and my limp was pronounced, but I forced myself forward.

When I entered the kitchen, Julian was standing by the island, drinking black coffee while reading emails on his tablet. He looked up, his eyes scanning me.

"Good morning," he said neutrally. Then his gaze dropped to my clothes. I was wearing my usual long, baggy trousers. He frowned. "Nora, what did we discuss last night? Clara specifically said you need to stop wearing oversized clothes to hide your scars. She brought over a couple of athletic shorts for you. They're on the chair."

I looked at the dining chair. A pair of gray cotton shorts sat there.

"I'm not wearing those, Julian," I said calmly, opening the refrigerator to grab a carton of milk.

Julian set his coffee cup down with a sharp click. "Nora, don't be stubborn. Clara is doing us a favor by guiding your recovery. You can't live in hiding forever. If you don't push past your comfort zone, you'll remain broken for the rest of your life."

'Broken.'

That was the word he had carried in his mind for three years. In his eyes, I wasn't his wife; I was a broken project he was forced to maintain.

"I'm not broken, Julian," I said, pouring milk into a glass. My voice was surprisingly steady. "And my recovery is my own business."

Before Julian could respond, his phone chimed on the counter. He picked it up, and his entire posture softened. A faint, gentle expression touched his lips—an expression he had never given me.

"Hey, Clara," he spoke into the phone, his voice warm and attentive. "Did you sleep well?... No, don't worry about it. I'll pick you up in twenty minutes and take you to the clinic... Yes, of course. See you soon."

He hung up, tapped a few buttons on his screen, and then grabbed his suit jacket.

"I have to go," Julian said, not looking at me as he straightened his tie. "Clara needs help settling into her new practice office downtown. Her car is still in shipping."

"It's raining outside, Julian," I remarked quietly. "You used to stay home on rainy mornings because you knew the barometric pressure makes my pain worse."

Julian paused, a flicker of guilt crossing his features, but he quickly hardened his expression. "Nora, as Clara explained, you need to stop expecting me to cater to your physical discomfort. You need to build mental resilience. Take your medication and rest."

He turned and walked out the door, the sound of his sharp footsteps fading down the corridor.

I stood in the silent kitchen for a moment. Then, I drank my milk, washed the glass, and went straight to my study—a room I hadn't properly used in three years.

I dusted off my old drafting table. I pulled out my charcoal pencils, my scale rulers, and my sketchbooks. Opening a fresh notebook, I wrote at the top of the page: *Day 29.*

My phone rang. It was an unfamiliar local number. I answered it.

"Nora? Is that really you?" a vibrant, energetic female voice called out.

My heart lifted slightly. "Maya?"

"Oh my gosh, Nora! It IS you!" Maya, my best friend from college and a brilliant interior designer, shrieked with joy. "I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for months! I heard through Professor Vance that you might be coming back to work?!"

"I am," I said, a genuine smile forming on my face for the first time in months. "I accepted Professor Vance's offer in London. I leave in less than a month."

"Nora, that is incredible news!" Maya cheered. "You were the top designer in our graduating class! It was a crime that you hid away after the accident. Listen, I'm in town setting up a major gallery exhibition. You HAVE to meet me for lunch today. No excuses!"

I hesitated, feeling the familiar pull of anxiety. I hadn't eaten in a public restaurant in over two years. The thought of walking into a crowded venue with my limp made my chest tighten.

"Maya, I... I don't really go out much," I murmured.

"Nora," Maya's voice turned soft and fiercely supportive. "You survived a terrible crash, but you are not defeated. You are Nora Vance's star protegee. Put on something fabulous and come meet me. I’ll be waiting at the Bistro on 5th."

I looked at the gray shorts Julian had left on the chair, then turned toward my closet. I passed right by the baggy sweatpants. Instead, I pulled out a sleek, tailored emerald-green jumpsuit with wide legs that covered my leg gracefully while accentuating my waist. I did my makeup, styled my hair into elegant waves, and applied a bold berry lipstick.

When I stepped out of the taxi in front of the Bistro on 5th, my heart was racing. But as I walked in, limping slightly, I held my head high.

"Nora!" Maya squealed, running over from a corner table and pulling me into a warm embrace. "Look at you! You look absolutely gorgeous!"

We sat down, and for the next two hours, we talked about design architecture, international trends, and London. Maya listened with absolute enthusiasm as I shared some quick structural concepts I had sketched that morning.

"Nora, your talent hasn't dimmed at all!" Maya exclaimed, grabbing my hands. "You are brilliant! Don't ever let anyone make you feel like you're less than extraordinary."

While we were talking, a group of people walked into the restaurant's private dining section nearby. I turned my head slightly—and caught sight of Julian.

He was holding Clara's elbow, carefully guiding her past a slight step near the door. He pulling out her chair, placing a velvet cushion behind her back, and ordering her favorite tea without even asking her.

It was the exact opposite of what he was doing to me. He told me I needed 'exposure therapy' and refused to cushion my pain, yet here he was, treating Clara like fragile porcelain.

Maya noticed my gaze and looked over. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized Julian and Clara.

"Is that... your husband?" Maya asked, her voice dropping into a dangerous dangerous tone. "And who is that woman he's hovering over?"

"That's Clara," I replied calmly, sipping my iced tea. "She's a psychologist who returned from abroad recently. Julian's old flame."

Maya’s jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me? He’s acting like her personal valet while telling you to 'be independent'?! Nora, that man is a hipocrite!"

"It doesn't matter anymore, Maya," I said, looking back at my friend with absolute clarity. "He thinks he's helping me step out of my comfort zone. What he doesn't realize is that once I step out, I'm never stepping back into his life."

Maya looked at me, seeing the quiet determination in my eyes, and smiled deeply. "Good. Because you deserve the world, Nora. Not a man who treats you like an obligation."

That evening, when I returned to the penthouse, I found Julian sitting in the living room. On the coffee table lay a stack of documents.

Julian looked up as I walked in. His eyes scanned my emerald jumpsuit, a flash of surprise crossing his face. But then his gaze hardened.

"Where were you today?" he asked. "I came home early to check on you, and you weren't here."

"I was out having lunch with Maya," I replied smoothly, laying my coat over the rack.

Julian frowned. "Nora, Clara warned me about this. She said sudden, uncontrolled social outings without proper psychological pacing could trigger severe regression. You shouldn't be running around town."

I almost laughed at the irony. "Julian, you told me this morning that I needed to face the real world. Now you're telling me I shouldn't leave the house?"

Julian shifted uncomfortably. "It has to be structured, Nora. Anyway, look at these papers. Clara recommended an intensive exposure therapy program at her clinic. I signed you up. It starts next week."

I walked over to the table and picked up the brochure. It was a heavy-handed, aggressive behavioral program designed for severe mental trauma, run directly under Clara's supervision.

I set the brochure back down on the table.

"I'll think about it," I said softly.

I walked into the bedroom, pulled out my passport from the safe, and checked the visa document inside.

*Day 29.* The clock was ticking.