Chapter 76: I lost my legs

Chapter 76: I lost my legs

The doctors arrived just after noon, their presence announced by the soft rolling of equipment and the low murmur of professional voices. Audrey sat on the edge of the bed while they examined her, her posture stiff, her face blank in a way that worried Yvonne more than tears ever could.

The room didnt smell, even faintly of antiseptic. Her perfumes were stronger. One doctor knelt in front of her, tapping lightly along her left leg, asking her to describe what she felt, watching her face closely for reactions that never came. Another adjusted her position, lifting her leg carefully, checking reflexes, strength, response. Audrey answered when spoken to, her voice flat, distant, as if she were answering questions meant for someone else.

“Can you feel this?” the doctor asked, pressing his fingers gently into her calf.

Audrey shook her head. “No.”

He looked up at the others, then back at her. “And this?”

She shook her head again.

They exchanged glances that said everything without saying anything at all. After a few more tests, after words like recovery plan and long-term care floated through the room, one of the nurses brought in a wheelchair. It was black, clean, efficient. Audrey stared at it for a moment, her eyes lingering longer than necessary.

“So… this is it?” she asked quietly.

“For now,” the doctor said carefully. “It will help you move safely.”

Audrey let out a dry laugh that held no humor. “Safely,” she repeated.

Yvonne helped her into the wheelchair, her hands gentle, her mouth tight with emotion she was trying hard not to show. When Audrey was seated, her feet resting on the supports, she looked smaller somehow, like the room had suddenly grown too big around her.

“I’ll give you some space,” the doctor said. “We’ll be back later.”

When they left, the silence felt louder than their voices ever had.

Yvonne crouched in front of her. “Audrey,” she said softly. “We can go outside. The garden might help. Just a little fresh air.”

Audrey didn’t respond, but she didn’t resist when Yvonne turned the chair and pushed her toward the doors. The garden was bright, almost painfully so, the sunlight sharp against the green hedges and manicured lawns. Birds moved freely between trees, unaware of anything broken. Yvonne pushed slowly, careful not to jolt the chair, trying to think of something, anything, to say that wouldn’t sound useless.

“It’s nice out today,” she offered. “The weather’s been good lately.”

Audrey stared ahead, her hands resting limply in her lap.

“They replanted the roses over there,” Yvonne continued. “Remember how you said the white ones looked like they were made of paper?”

There was silence.

Yvonne tried again. “We can come out here every day if you want. Or stay inside. Whatever you prefer.”

Audrey’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

They reached a shaded path, the sound of gravel soft beneath the wheels. Yvonne slowed down, walking beside her now. “You don’t have to talk,” she said. “I just don’t want you to feel alone.”

Audrey’s phone vibrated in her hand.

She looked down at the screen, distracted at first, then still. Her eyes moved as she read, once, twice. Her fingers tightened around the phone. The message was short, efficient, merciless.

“We heard you lost your legs. We are terminating your involvement effective immediately. Do not return. Izo Whitmore is no longer a target of interest. You took too long, compromised yourself, and are no longer fit for field work. Your condition makes you unstable and unfit to continue. This is final.”

Audrey’s breath caught. Her chest felt tight, like someone had reached inside and closed their fist around her lungs. She read it again, hoping the words would change, soften, explain themselves. They didn’t.

Her hands began to shake.

“Hey,” Yvonne said, noticing. “What is it?”

Audrey didn’t answer. She hit the call button, her movements sharp and desperate. The phone rang once, twice, then connected.

“What is this?” Audrey demanded, her voice already breaking. “What do you mean I’m dropped?”

The voice on the other end was calm, detached. “Audrey, you were informed of the decision.”

“You can’t just do this,” she said. “You sent me in there. You watched me. You knew what was happening.”

“You failed to deliver within the required timeframe,” the voice replied. “And your current condition disqualifies you.”

“I lost my legs doing…” Audrey shouted. “I...”

“That is unfortunate,” the voice said. “But not our responsibility.”

Audrey’s grip tightened. “I’m not unstable. I’m still useful. I can still…”

“This conversation is over,” the voice interrupted. “Do not contact us again.”

The line went dead.

Audrey stared at the phone, her mouth open, her breath coming fast and shallow. Then she screamed. It tore out of her chest, raw and unfiltered, a sound of rage and loss that echoed through the garden. Yvonne jumped, rushing toward her.

“Audrey, hey, hey,” she said. “What happened? Who was that? What is it?”

Audrey lowered the phone slowly, her hands trembling. Her face crumpled for a brief second before she forced it still again. “Nothing,” she said hoarsely.

Yvonne frowned. “That didn’t sound like nothing.”

Audrey wiped her face roughly. “Take me back inside.”

“We can sit for a minute,” Yvonne suggested gently. “Just breathe.”

“I said take me back,” Audrey snapped, her voice sharp, brittle.

Yvonne nodded immediately. “Okay. Okay.”

She turned the chair and pushed it back toward the house, her heart pounding with worry. As they moved, she glanced down at Audrey’s phone, still clutched tightly in her sister’s hand.

“Do you want to talk about it later?” Yvonne asked quietly.

Audrey didn’t look at her. “No.”

Inside the mansion, the cool air wrapped around them. Yvonne wheeled Audrey down the hallway and into her bedroom, positioning the chair beside the bed.

“I’ll help you lie down,” she said.

“I can do it,” Audrey replied.

Yvonne hesitated, then stepped back, watching as Audrey struggled through the movement with stiff, practiced determination. When she was finally settled, she turned her face toward the wall.

“I’ll be outside,” Yvonne said softly. “If you need anything.”

Audrey didn’t respond.

Yvonne lingered for a moment, then quietly left the room, closing the door behind her. Audrey lay there, staring at nothing, the weight of everything pressing down on her at once.

Her body, her mission, her purpose, all taken from her. The wheelchair sat beside the bed, silent and waiting, as the house carried on around her like nothing had changed.