Time for recovery

Hours later, I woke up groggy and in pain. My body felt like a lead weight anchored to the mattress, and every ragged breath I drew sent a sharp, protest-filled spike of agony through my ribs. The room was deathly quiet, save for the rhythmic, taunting beep of the vitals monitor.

When I was able to fully open my eyes, the nurse, Roberto, who knew me as my real identity, was walking into my room. He was the one person here who saw past the meticulously curated alias on my medical chart. He moved with a heavy, deliberate pace.

He caught me staring and stopped at the foot of the bed, his expression was unreadable. He didn't offer a rehearsed, clinical smile. Instead, he simply tapped his pen against the clipboard, his eyes searching mine.

"You're awake," he said, his voice dropping into a low, grounded tone. "How are you holding up?"

I shifted, the sheets scratching against my skin like sandpaper, and I hissed as the movement ignited a fresh flare of white-hot intensity in my chest. I let out a jagged breath, the air burning my throat.

"I'm exhausted, Roberto," I rasped, the words feeling heavy and thick on my tongue. "And the pain is overwhelming right now. It feels like it’s trying to dismantle me from the inside out."

Roberto stepped closer, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He didn't rush to adjust the drip or check my vitals. He just stood there, holding space for me to find my rhythm.

"That's to be expected, considering what your body just endured," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that barely rose above the hum of the monitors. "You healing from the physical trauma of multiple surgeries all at once. It’s a big ting"

I looked up at him, searching for a trace of reassurance in his eyes—some confirmation that I wasn't just a broken machine in a sterile room. "Does it ever stop? This pain?"

"It gets better after a few days," Roberto countered, his gaze firm. "You've been through hell, and your body is still reacting to it. Focus on the breathing, not the exhaustion. You’re in a safe place and we’re going to do our best to bring the pain down significantly. We’re also going to make sure you’re as pain free as possible when you leave us in a week.”

"The less pain I'm in, the better," I told him.

Roberto nodded and immediately paged the doctor to come to my room.

A few minutes later, Dr. Aris and Dr. Welsh—the main surgeons—entered the room alongside Sera. Both Roberto and Sera knew that the other knew I was Marie Alexandrovna Romanov, but no one else on the hospital staff knew my real identity. It was a silent, heavily guarded secret between the three of us in the room.

The doctors and I discussed my current pain levels.

"We're sending an order to the pharmacy for Toradol," Dr. Aris explained. "It's a prescription-strength NSAID... like Advil, but stronger."

"We're also sending in Tylenol #3 with Codeine," Dr. Welsh added. "You'll start out alternating between the two. But if the pain isn't managed with that plan, you'll take both at the same time."

"I agree," I said, immediately accepting their plan. "Let's do that."

Once the medical plan was set, Sera stepped forward. "I apologize for interrupting your conversation," she said to me, her voice sincere. "But I wanted to thank you for bringing it to my attention yesterday that my head receptionist slash manager didn't do their job to their full capacity. I understand that you're bringing in a lawsuit."

I looked directly at her. "The lawsuit is against the receptionist, not your hospital."

Sera nodded and then left.

"Do you have any questions for us?" Dr. Aris asked.

"No," I replied.

"Alright, we'll let you get some rest," Dr. Welsh said, and both doctors excused themselves from the room.

Roberto turned back to me. "I'll go get something for you to eat so you can take the Toradol," he said. "Then I'll head to the pharmacy to pick up both medications and come by the room."

"Thank you," I said.

I rolled onto my side and fell asleep.