Epiphany

Chapter 57: "Learned from the Best"

Author's P.O.V.

"Good... good... slowly, Olivia. Let me guide your leg, don't push too hard."

The physiotherapist's voice is soft and patient, her hands steady as she supports Olivia's right leg, gently lifting and bending it at the knee.

Olivia lies on the therapy bed, gripping the edge of the pillow beneath her head, eyes focused on the ceiling to avoid watching how useless her legs still feel.

Her breathing is shallow, chest rising and falling with effort-not because of pain, but because of the weight in her heart. It still feels foreign, unnatural, to watch someone else move parts of her own body. But she doesn't say anything. She just watches. Endures.

"You're doing well," the physiotherapist says again, this time with a warm smile. "Your muscles are responding better today. That's progress."

Olivia's eyes shift toward her, doubtful. "But I'm not even moving them. You are."

"I know," the woman nods, adjusting Olivia's ankle and beginning a slow, careful stretch, "But progress isn't always about movement. Sometimes it's about response. Muscle tone. Blood flow. Even the tiniest flicker counts."

There's a long pause. Olivia swallows hard and looks away, blinking rapidly to hide the mist forming in her eyes.

"You're not weak, Olivia," the therapist adds gently, noticing her silence. "You're recovering. And recovery takes time, not miracles."

Olivia forces a weak chuckle. "I've never been good with patience."

"Well, you're learning now," the therapist smiles. "And you're doing it beautifully."

Those words settle in Olivia's chest like warmth on a cold morning.

"Let's do the left leg now," the therapist says, moving to the other side. "Same pace. I've got you."

She places one hand beneath Olivia's knee, the other supporting her ankle. The moment she begins to lift it, she notices how much heavier it feels than the other. There's no resistance from Olivia's body. Just weight. Dead weight.

Olivia looks up at the ceiling again, jaw clenched, trying not to let the sting in her eyes take over. She hates this leg more than the other-it barely responds at all.

"Good... good," the physiotherapist encourages gently, her voice calm and steady. "Let me do the work. You just breathe."

"Why is it not moving?" Olivia whispers, her voice almost trembling. "Why does this one feel worse?"

The therapist pauses for just a second, then resumes the stretch, her tone staying warm. "It's not worse. It's just healing differently. Your left side took a deeper impact, remember? But that doesn't mean it won't recover."

"I can't even feel it," Olivia says, her throat tightening. "It just... it just lays there. Like it's not even mine."

The physiotherapist's expression softens. She looks up at Olivia, but doesn't stop the movement. "I know it's terrifying, Olivia. But nerves take time. The body needs space to heal, and yours has been through more than most people ever experience in their lives."

Tears escape Olivia's eyes now, sliding down her temple silently. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever walk again. Or if people are just saying it to make me feel better."

The therapist gently places her hand on Olivia's arm, pausing the stretch for a moment.

"Look at me," she says softly. Olivia turns her head with effort, eyes watery and pained.