Chapter 3 revised

She sat back against her pillows.

“Well.”

Five.

That wasn't terrible.

Her finger hovered over the messaging option.

It had been a long time since Anita dated anyone.

Her previous relationship certainly hadn't inspired her to rush toward another one.

Her ex had been perfectly content allowing Anita to handle nearly every responsibility while he contributed increasingly less.

Eventually, she realized she had somehow acquired a dependent instead of a partner.

Ending that relationship had been one of her easier decisions.

Maybe that was another reason the idea of giving up control appealed to her now.

She wanted someone capable of carrying his own weight.

Someone she didn't have to manage.

After several minutes of hesitation, Anita sent messages to all five men.

Then immediately regretted it.

“Oh God.”

She stared at the screen.

Had that sounded awkward?

Too eager?

Too formal?

She had spent years delivering devastating medical news to families without allowing panic to touch her voice, yet sending five introductory messages had somehow turned her palms sweaty.

Ridiculous.

Anita returned to her own profile.

She had deliberately avoided adding a full-body photograph earlier.

Now she reconsidered.

Not because she disliked her body.

Anita had never understood why strangers thought they were entitled to decide whether somebody else should feel attractive.

She was plus-size, with a full figure, dark skin, long 4C hair that fell down her back when she wore it loose, and brown eyes that had once carried far more life than they had during the past three months.

Anita liked herself.

Or at least, she had before the accident.

That was the problem.

Looking at recent photographs, she barely recognized the woman staring back.

The same face was there.

The same features.

But the spark was missing.

She hadn't realized how obvious her depression had become until she compared those pictures to older ones.

Anita found a photograph she liked.

She studied it.

Then uploaded it.

“There.”

Anyone who wasn't interested could keep scrolling.

She wasn't auditioning for approval.

The thought surprised her.

For the first time in months, Anita felt something besides grief.

Nervousness.

Curiosity.

Excitement.

Tiny emotions, perhaps.

But they were alive.

Her brown eyes seemed brighter reflected in the dark edge of the laptop screen.

Anita stared at herself.

Then she thought about the argument outside her bedroom.

Her excitement dimmed slightly.

Mom.

Dad.

She closed the laptop halfway.

For three months, her parents had watched her disappear.

Her mother protected her.

Her father aggravated her.

Both loved her.

And Anita had barely acknowledged either of them.

Maybe joining a dating site wasn't the biggest decision she needed to make today.

Anita took a slow breath.

Then she pushed herself upright.

Her knee protested when she stood.

She waited for the discomfort to settle.

Then she walked toward the door.

The hallway felt strangely unfamiliar despite the fact that she had grown up in this house.

As she approached the living room, she could hear the television playing quietly.

Her mother sat on one end of the couch.

Her father sat on the other.

Anita nearly laughed.

Apparently, the post-argument neutral zone was in effect.

She stopped in the doorway.

“Mom? Dad?”

Both looked up.

Her father's mouth opened.

Anita immediately raised a hand.

“Nope. I'm talking first.”

Don closed his mouth.

Amena's lips twitched.

Anita walked carefully across the room and lowered herself onto the couch between them.

She took a breath.

Then another.

Suddenly, this felt harder than walking into an operating room.

“I'm sorry.”

Neither parent interrupted.

Anita looked down at her hands.

“I've been so wrapped up in losing Wendy and losing the life I thought I was going to have that I stopped paying attention to what I was doing to both of you.”

Her throat tightened.

She swallowed.

“I know you checked on me, Mom. Even when I didn't answer.”

Amena's eyes immediately glistened.

Anita turned toward her father.

“And I know every time you lectured me, it was because you were worried.”

Don shifted uncomfortably.

Expressing emotions had never been the man's favorite hobby.

Anita gave him a tiny smile.

“You're terrible at it, but I know.”

A sound suspiciously close to a laugh escaped Amena.

Don frowned at both of them.

“I am sitting right here.”

“I know.”

Anita's smile faded.

“I'm sorry I let what happened to me become something that started hurting your marriage too. I never wanted that.”

“Baby...” Amena whispered.

“And I don't know what I'm going to do yet.”

That admission hurt.

For most of Anita's life, there had always been a next step.

College.

Medical school.

Residency.

Surgery.

Now there was nothing written on the map.

But maybe that didn't mean there was nowhere to go.

“I don't know if I'll teach,” Anita continued. “Or consult. Or do something completely different. And I'm still angry. I'm still sad. I still miss Wendy.”

Her voice cracked slightly on the dog's name.

Amena reached for her hand.

Anita squeezed it.

“But I don't want to spend the rest of my life hiding in my bedroom because the future I planned isn't available anymore.”

Her father stared at her.

Then, without saying anything, Don wrapped an arm around Anita's shoulders and pulled her against his side.

The movement caught her by surprise.

For once, there was no lecture.

No advice.

No command to get over it.

Just her father's arm around her.

Amena started crying.

Anita looked at her.

“Mom.”

“I can't help it.”

“I'm not dying.”

“That doesn't mean I can't cry.”

Don sighed dramatically.

“Here we go.”

Amena slapped his thigh.

Anita laughed.

The sound startled all three of them.

For a moment, the room became quiet.

Then Anita laughed again.

Amena joined her.

Even Don eventually gave in, although he tried very hard to pretend otherwise.

For the first time since the accident, their house sounded familiar again.

Later, Anita would return upstairs.

Her laptop would still be waiting.

So would five unanswered messages floating somewhere out in the digital world.

One of them might lead nowhere.

Maybe all five would.

Or maybe the strange decision Anita had made that afternoon would eventually lead her toward something she could never have predicted.

For now, none of that mattered.

Sitting between her parents with her mother's fingers wrapped around one hand and her father's arm still resting over her shoulders, Anita realized something.

Her old life was gone.

She couldn't change that.

But gone didn't necessarily mean finished.

Maybe it simply meant the next part hadn't been written yet.