That is the one area there is very little improvement, at least, not as much as I’d hoped. There is sometimes a reprieve, but it’s only on the nights when Grayson is there to keep them at bay.

“Still reoccurring.”

“And still as intense?”

I nod. “Sometimes, I wake up and I can’t see. Like the concussion just happened, and my sight is gone for that minute. I have to fight to stay calm because I know it’s just that there’s no light in the room.”

“Are you still writing them down?”

“No,” I admit.

Dr. Warvel purses her lips. “Okay, are you having them on the nights you’re with Grayson? If so, how is he handling them?”

Well, crap. “I don’t . . . well, that’s to say I don’t know if I’m having them when I’m with him.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“There are times that I don’t remember if I wake up, and he doesn’t tell me.”

She taps her pen on the notepad. “And you don’t ask him?”

“I don’t want to know.”

Sympathy fills her gaze. “I see.”

What does she see? Because all I see is that I’m being a chicken shit. I should be dancing around the office that I’m doing better. There should be streamers and confetti instead of doom and gloom.

“I am struggling today.”

“What happened?”

I was having a great day. Lunch with Delia was fantastic. And then . . .

“Today was supposed to go one way, my appointment with the neurologist didn’t go as I expected.”

I hear Dr. Havisham’s voice from two hours ago.

“Well, it looks like everything is healing nicely,” my neurologist said.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes, you haven’t had a fainting spell in over a month and your eyesight isn’t an issue either.”

Delia took my hand, squeezing. “What does this mean for Jessica?”

He wrote something on my chart and then looked up with a smile. “It means that she’s cleared to drive and return to her normal activities. You may still struggle with headaches, but you haven’t had one that has left you feeling too badly in a while. I think that, if you wanted to return to work, you could start with one short flight and see how it goes. If there aren’t any problems, then you can work your way up.”

“I can fly?” I asked with breathless fear and anticipation.

“I see no reason medically why you can’t. Your scans look great, and you’ve healed wonderfully. Your restrictions are lifted, and you can resume the life you had.”

I got big news—great news—and yet, I feel like I was issued a death sentence.

“What did the doctor say before you came here?”

I turn my head away, feeling stupid. “I got cleared.”

“That’s great, Jessica.”

“Is it?”