This I did with a body that had been turned into my prison, and I did it anyway, because on the other side of that finger was the only thing that mattered: a witness.

Someone who would see me choose to move, and understand that the woman they’d all written off as gone was still in here, still fighting, still keeping score.

Chapter 8 — Time

That single decision — a nurse choosing to believe a blink instead of a husband — bought me the only thing I needed.

Time.

Within two days I had partial movement in my fingers and a thin, cracked voice.