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***
Heather rested in her old bedroom, peering over her elevated knee. As soon as she walked inside her mother’s ranch-style home on crutches, she hobbled down the long hallway to her old room. The bedsprings creaked as she adjusted in the bed.
Her old desk remained in the corner with a few of her old textbooks stacked on top of each other. She loved science as a kid, loving how the human body worked. It sparked her interest even more in fitness to pursue her career. Trophies from her basketball and volleyball days were still on her dresser.
It had been a long time since she’d slept in her old bedroom. Through the years, she would rush home after school, tossing her backpack on the bed to change for her job at the animal shelter. Her favorite pastime was to walk the dogs and play with the puppies waiting for a good home.
If only she could stuff her face with chocolate. How could this happen to her now? She had too much going on and she didn’t want to be a burden to her family. Her mother would berate her for even thinking such a thing.
Heather couldn’t help it. She was the strong one, at least she thought she had to be. The door creaked upon the entrance of someone. She lifted her head to see her mother walking with a food tray. If it was her mother’s fried chicken, she would break her diet. She deserved a cheat meal after what she had been through.
Her mother set the tray on the nightstand next to her bed. “How are you feeling?” she asked, sitting next to Heather on her bed.
“I’m fine.”
Heather’s mother pursed her lips. “I wish I believed you.”
She patted her mother’s hand. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“I still don’t understand how this happened. How did you slip?”
“I lost my footing in my heels. I looked cute though.”
Arching one eyebrow in disbelief. “This is serious.”
“Sorry.” Heather exhaled. “I wished this didn’t happen. It’s almost Christmas.”
“You’ll be better before you know it. Are you hungry?”
“If it’s fried chicken, yes.”
The side of her mother’s mouth quirked up. “Not quite. Baked chicken.”
“Since when do you bake your chicken?”
“I’m getting back into shape.”
“Mom, don’t tell me you hired a personal trainer. Not when I’ve been working at the fitness center—”
Her mother waved away her statement. “I know you’re the fitness guru, but I did this for me. I found a program I like.”
“I don’t believe it.” Heather crossed her arms in a huff.
“You’ll get over it. Now I want you to eat and get some rest. I’ve already looked into some places in town for your therapy.”
“Mom, I can find my own.”
“I know.” Her mother patted Heather’s arm as if she didn’t hear her objection. “Eat something and get some sleep.”
Her mother closed the door behind her and Heather scooted up against the headboard, feeling a stab of pain in her knee. Her eyes bulged. She still couldn’t believe she sprained it. Heather couldn’t lay cooped up in her mother’s house, with her mother waiting on her hand and foot. She had to convince her to let her go home. She could take care of herself. She was strong.
Heather grabbed the plate and held it in her lap. Her mother was changing her diet if baked chicken was on the menu. She appreciated her mother taking control of her health but part of the reason why she visited home was for her mother’s home-cooked meals. At home, Heather had enough healthy food to last a lifetime. Her mother’s home was her place to cheat her diet now and then.
Another knock at the door and Heather swallowed the meat in her mouth. “Come in.”
Sonia peeked through the door. “You have a visitor.”
She made a sour face. “I don’t want to see anyone right now.”
