Chapter 1: The Doctor's Verdict
The white gauze whispered as Dr. Evans looped it around her left wrist, his movements efficient, practiced. The fluorescent light above buzzed, a sound that seemed to drill right into the center of Sally’s skull. It was the only noise in the room besides their breathing.
“So,” she said, her voice too bright, too loud for the sterile quiet. “Two weeks?”
“At minimum.” He didn’t look up, securing the end with a clip. His fingers were cool and dry. “The ligament strain in the right is severe. The left is a nasty sprain. You cannot use your hands, Sally. Not to cook, not to drive, certainly not to lift anything heavier than a paperback.”
He finally met her eyes. His were a calm, placid blue, the kind that had seen every variety of panic and was professionally immune to it. “I mean it. You need full assistance. Do you have someone?”
The image of her daughter, Jenna, flashed in her mind. Curled on the sofa at home right now, probably, phone in hand, earbuds in, a world away in her own teenage summer. Home from her first year of college, filled with new opinions and a low-grade, perpetual annoyance at everything her mother represented.
“My daughter’s home,” Sally said. The words felt both like a relief and a confession of guilt.
“Good. That’s good.” He finished with the second wrist, the thick bandages transforming her hands into clumsy, padded paws. She held them up, turning them over. They looked foreign, attached to her yet utterly useless.
A helpless laugh bubbled up. “How do I… do anything?”
“You ask.” He peeled off his gloves with a snap. “You let people help you. That’s the prescription. Rest, ice, compression, elevation. And humility.” He offered a small, tight smile that touched his eyes. “The hard part.”
Sally’s voice was muffled through the static of her own thoughts. She flexed her fingers experimentally inside the bandages, letting the absurdity settle in. "I mean, I *could* bake. But I can't even *pour* milk. I couldn't even text you without dropping my phone."
Dr. Evans chuckled, a dry, professional sound, as he washed his hands at the small sink. "There’s a reason they call it a *fracture*. You’ll need help. And not just for the next few days—weeks."
The word *weeks* hung in the air like a final verdict. Sally’s stomach twisted.
She watched the water swirl down the drain, clear and clean and so much simpler than her own situation. “I’ll figure it out,” she said, squaring her shoulders inside the thin paper gown.
“Good.” Dr. Evans patted the top of her bandaged hand—a gesture that felt almost paternal. “Call the front desk, schedule a follow-up in ten days. And Sally…” He paused, mittens of gauze in mid-air. “Try not to open any jars.”
She let out a small, surprised laugh, the kind that sneaks out when the pressure gets too high. “Noted.”
The door clicked shut behind him with a soft sigh, leaving her alone in the white void.
She exited to the front desk and asked the receptionist if she could call her daughter for her.
She held up her bandaged hands by way of explanation.
The receptionist, a young woman with crimson lipstick and a ponytail so tight it looked painful, gave a nod of understanding. She dialed the number easily, the phone's receiver pressed to her ear. "Hi there, this is Dr. Evans' office. Your mom's ready to be picked up..." A pause. "Oh, you were already on your way? Perfect."
She hung up and smiled at Sally. "She'll be here in about ten minutes."
Relief, warm and unexpected, washed through her. Jenna was a sweet and loving daughter that would do anything for her mom, she shouldn't have been surprised. But then again, Sally had never felt so helpless before.
She stood waiting by the glass doors, her bandaged hands useless at her sides, watching the parking lot shimmer in the heat. Already she could feel the sweat and heat building in the space under her impossibly massive and heavy breasts.
A black SUV rolled in, and her heart did that strange little flip it always did when Jenna was near. The car door swung open and there she was, stepping out in cutoffs and a faded band tee, her golden hair a messy halo from the open windows. She was tall now, almost towering over Sally, all long limbs and easy confidence.
“Mom?” Jenna’s voice was hesitant, like she wasn’t sure this was real.
Sally managed a small smile. “Hey, kiddo.”
Jenna took one look at the bandages and her face fell.
"Oh my god, what happened?"
Sally opened her mouth to explain, but the words tangled in her throat. The doctor’s words echoed back—*weeks*, *full assistance*, *humility*. She exhaled through her nose, a slow, shaky breath. "Slipped jogging this morning. Tore up both wrists."
Jenna’s eyes widened. "Both? How—?"
Sally told the story and the need for assistance then waited for her daughter's reaction. She held her breath a little. Jenna had always been independent, and Sally had always been the one who did everything for her. The dynamic was shifting in ways Sally wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for.
Jenna’s brow furrowed, her fingers tapping against her thigh. “Okay. So you can’t do anything?”
“Not really,” Sally admitted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The bandages felt like bricks at the end of her arms.
Jenna exhaled, an easy sigh, “Mom, I'll do anything for you. You've taken care of me my whole life. I'll take care of you in anyway I can. Plus, I have the whole summer free, so really it couldn't have happened at a better time. And it probably be hard for us to get closer, our relationship is already so strong, but who knows, maybe this will forge new bonds," Jenna finished.
Her voice was gentle, but there was a quiet certainty in it that made Sally’s chest tighten. She had spent so long being the rock, the one who fixed things, and now here was her daughter, offering to take care of her.
Sally swallowed hard, nodding. "I appreciate it, Jenna. Really." She hesitated, then added, "But I don’t want to be a burden."
Jenna snorted, slinging an arm around her mom’s shoulders in a way that made the bandages crumple awkwardly against her ribs. "Mom, you’re never a burden. You’re my mom.
Of course I want to help.”
Sally leaned into the weight of her daughter’s arm, her throat tight. Jenna smelled like sunscreen and the faintest trace of the college dorm’s lemon cleaner. It was a scent that should have been ordinary, but now it felt like a balm. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll let you.”
Jenna guided her toward the SUV, her grip firm but careful. “So what’s the plan? You get in the passenger seat. I’ll drive. We’ll stop by the pharmacy on the way home. You need painkillers, right?”
"The doctor already provided those. Let's just get home. And we can talk about everything this entails on the way." They rode for a few minutes in silence before Sally continued. "I just want to make sure everything is on the table before you agree honey. This will mean helping me dress and undress. Possibly bathing. And washroom necessities. Wiping after even.."
Wiping after even.
The words hung between them, heavy and raw, and Sally hated herself for saying them aloud. She could feel Jenna’s grip tighten on the steering wheel, just slightly, but enough to betray the flicker of discomfort that crossed her daughter’s face.
Jenna swallowed hard, her throat working visibly. She kept her eyes locked on the road ahead, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the dashboard. “Yeah,” she said finally, her voice steady but quiet.
“I get it.
It’s just… going to take some getting used to.” Jenna’s fingers drummed once against the steering wheel. “I mean, we’ve never done that kind of thing before. Like, ever.”
Sally nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the blur of white lines rushing past. She could feel the weight of Jenna’s discomfort—not because she didn’t agree with it, but because she recognized the way it tightened in her own chest. Awkwardness had been such a rare visitor in their mother-daughter world before; they’d always had a rhythm, a kind of effortless closeness that didn’t require explanations or boundaries.
“Yeah,” Sally said quietly. “It’s gonna be strange.
But we’ll get used to it,” Sally said. The words sounded more confident than she felt. She didn’t look at Jenna, just kept her gaze on the passing street signs. The truck stop they passed always reminded her of road trips with Jenna when she was younger. Those simple, unburdened days.
Jenna glanced at her briefly, her knuckles still tight around the wheel. “Okay.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, more like the kind of quiet built from years of shared history, stretched now into something new. Sally felt the weight of change pressing against her ribs, but she also felt the warmth of Jenna’s presence beside her, solid and real.
She focused on that instead of the unknown stretching ahead of them like a road with no signs.
They pulled in the driveway and Jenna switched the car off then came round and helped her mother into the house.