Two days later, they drove me eighty-five miles north to the orthopedic center in Atlanta. The three-hour lumbar decompression and fusion stabilized the damaged vertebrae and relieved the pressure on my nerves. Audrey stayed in the waiting room until the surgeon confirmed the procedure had gone well, then sat beside my hospital bed with broth and extra pillows when I woke. Derek drove us home slowly enough that every bump felt negotiated.
Audrey stayed five days, helping me sit upright, preparing simple meals, and keeping my medications organized. My parents did not visit until the end of that first week. They arrived carrying grocery-store flowers and spoke softly as though kindness were something they had remembered to schedule. I was resting behind the thin bedroom partition when Dad’s voice drifted from the hallway.
“We need an attorney,” he told Mom. “If Joanna ends up permanently disabled, her medical debts could become a problem. Put the Spring Street house entirely in Felicia’s name.” Mom agreed immediately. Then she said, “Felicia at least has a career trajectory. She’ll know how to handle property.”
