Chapter 8 Self Reflection for the wounded (Lotus)
Lotus laughed, but it cracked mid-air a sound that broke into a sob she fought to swallow down.
She reached out and took his hand, surprised by how hard the moment hit her. The tears came anyway, slipping free before she could stop them. She had a good grip on herself she always did but a couple tears still managed to escape, rolling down her cheek and annoying her for betraying her strength in front of him.
“Thank you,” she whispered, eyes glistening. “For real.”
That little gesture her brother shown, looking her in the eye like she mattered hit harder than she expected. It triggered something deep, because it was the first time in forever somebody put her well-being first without needing anything back. No hustle, no angle, no strings. Just pure love. Genuine.
At that moment, a white lady nurse with a name tag that say Linda entered the room with Asian male doctor with name Dr. Chinx written on his white coat to check the machines and Lotus's vitals. They moved efficiently, adjusting the equipment and making notes on their charts, ensuring everything was in order. “Miss Wintlen,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re lucky. The driver who hit you was under the influence. Swerved at the last second. Based on the wreckage, there’s no medical reason you’re alive right now.
He held up a photo. Her Camry looked like crushed foil. Roof caved in. Frame bent. Metal twisted into impossible shapes.
It was a picture that says she wasn’t suppose to survive. she wasn’t suppose to be living.
Jason shook his head. “They said it was Denise, right? That girl from Lucky’s. Cops got her in holding.”
“Do you remember anything from that night?” Jason asked
Lotus didn’t respond. She just shook her head no.
Because her stomach dropped.
Just looking at the picture made Lotus emotional. It shook her into her core
She remembered something else though.
Not a woman. Not Denise.
A man.
In the driver’s seat.
A familiar figure.
Her breath caught. Her chest tightened.
She wanted to speak, to tell them, but her mind whispered maybe it was trauma.
Maybe her brain filled in blanks.
Or maybe it didn’t.
She didn’t argue. Didn’t try.
Instead, she stared up at the ceiling as voices around her faded into background buzz.
That could’ve been it. The end.
And she hadn’t even lived.
She had spent her life Being the strong one ,holding people down. Paying bills. Picking up broken pieces. Stretching herself thin until she disappeared.
She was the one who carried it all without complaint, without collapse.
But that picture and her state cause an emotion that felt new …For the first time, she felt a vulnerability she didn’t even recognize in herself. A kind of soft break inside her bones. She felt weak, stripped of control, like the weight she carried finally slipped and she had nothing to hold it up with. And in that moment, all she wished was that people could just see her state for what it was without her performing, without her explaining. To be taken into consideration as she was, raw and undone.
She wanted a place where it was safe to collapse, safe to let the fight drain out of her body, safe to not be the strong one. That one small kindness cracked the mask she’d been wearing for years, the armor she thought was permanent. It wasn’t the words, it wasn’t even the act—it was the rare truth behind it.
She needed someone to carry her.
Not guilt.
Not more responsibility.
Just grace.
Just rest.
But even now, fresh out of trauma, everybody still looked at her like she was the power source like she wasn’t allowed to break.
And the cruelest part?
She knew if she did, even for a second, everything would fall apart.
So she stayed in the cycle.
Not because she had anything left to give,
but because she was the only one who knew how to keep the house from collapsing.
The crash didn’t kill her.
But it shook the mask off.
That night, Lotus didn’t sleep.
Not from pain.
But because she was having a wake up call that it is time to live for her.
From that time forth her real life had just begun.