I have had no visitors aside from the lovely Doctor Wakeford who has become a close confidant. Checking on me twice a day, she’s taken great joy in telling me that I didn’t actually have breast cancer. It was merely a benign fatty lump, most likely due to a bad diet and a lot of stress from looking after my mother for all those months. Although I am pleased I do not have a body riddled with cancer, I also feel sick to my stomach that hiding the truth from Dante was all for nothing. Had I come clean with him from the start, I could have been checked out and cleared before this even became anything. It is a deep regret that sits heavy in my stomach, making me want to vomit every time I think about it. I was stupid. Stupid to think that a girl like me could have the dream man, dream child, dream house. I was naïve. How quickly it all disappeared, just because I didn’t want to face the truth, and took that option away from Dante as well.

Stupid. So stupid.

“Good morning, Annie,” Doctor Wakeford says as she walks into the room for her routine morning check-in. “How are you feeling today?” She grabs my files from the end of the bed and looks over the results of the test that the nurses took over night.

“I’m good, Doctor Wakeford,” I reply, trying to be cheerful but not feeling it at all. Over the course of the past week, Doctor Wakeford has run additional tests for me to ensure I didn’t carry the breast cancer gene or have any other ailments. I have had iron infusions, a steady dose of antibiotics, my stitches removed, and a daily physio to help my shoulder heal, although it is still bandaged, and I need to protect it. But that is not what weighs heavy. My heart is broken, my spirit too. I hate myself, more than ever, and I wish I could crawl up somewhere and hide.

“I think we may be able to discharge you today, Annie!” I should be excited, but I am not. I have no idea where the safehouse is or what to expect.

“Okay,” I say quietly, and my eyes travel to the duffle bag containing my life that sits over in the small wardrobe to the side of my hospital bed. Reminding me that I have nothing, I have no one, and I am unwanted.

“The nurses will get you up and dressed, and I will just need you to come back in within the next week or so, so I can check over your shoulder and ensure it is progressing well.” I nod to her, as the fear of being alone and eventually out on the streets starts to well into my bones.