Unwed 💍

Chapter Thirty-Three: I'm Coming Home

Izzy's days and nights blended together during her stay in the recovery room. Eventually, Francine's wailing in the opposite room tapered, leaving her to stare at the wall in silence between visits from the nurse.

Mara hadn't returned since the day Gloria went missing. The other nurses were nice enough, but Izzy could tell they were only going through the motions. When they asked how she was doing, they wanted her to say she was doing well, so that they could move on. They didn't care to hear the truth.

The truth was that a dark, flat feeling was eating at Izzy, consuming her at little more each day. She gave up eating, food had no taste. She only forced a few bites down to assure the nurses wouldn't linger in her room.

When they prodded her to get up, she complained of some ailment or another, eventually they left her alone. Most of the time, she lay on her side and slept, or pretended to sleep, until sleep came. Tears came often when she couldn't sleep, and her throat was raw from holding them back.

The dark room seemed more and more like a tomb as time passed. Izzy didn't care. She didn't care that she hadn't showered and her once lustrous amber hair was dull and greasy against her head. She didn't realize that she'd lost all of the weight she'd gained, and was losing more every day.

She'd pushed the baby so far back to the depths of her mind, she no longer wondered if she was still there in the nursery, or if a happy couple had come to take her away. Every day that passed, the lid closed tighter and tighter on her sealed tomb. Depression took her over, and the old Izzy faded almost completely away.

Then, one cold morning, she woke to Sister Mary Thomas standing over her. The nun was trying to mask the horror on her face as she looked her over.

"How long has she been in this condition?" she snapped at the nurse beside her.

"It's been weeks," said the nurse timidly, her eyes on the ground. "Usually they come out of it with time. But she's a stubborn one. Refuses to eat. Doesn't want to shower. We tried to convince her to walk outside, thought the fresh air would do her some good, but she doesn't want to move."

Izzy squinted, frowning at Sister Mary Thomas's expression. For a second it was soft, concerned.

"She was stubborn at one time," said the nun, her brow furrowing. "But this... this is just a shell of the girl she used to be." She turned to the nurse. "Something is very wrong with her. I should think that with your training you wouldn't let it get this far. But I see I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

She turned back to Izzy, her eyes flaring. "Isadora Twiss, get up this instant."

Izzy pressed her head to her pillow. "My head is pounding," she whined. "And my body feels weak. I feel like I might faint."

The nun took a hold of her blanket and ripped it from her, causing the nurse to let out a surprised gasp. "I said get up."

Izzy blinked and obediently came to her feet.

The nun shoved a towel and a bar or soap into her arms. "Wash yourself. Everywhere. If it isn't done right, you'll go back to the bath until it is. When you're done, you'll join the other girls in the dining hall. Nearly four weeks of this nonsense, it's time for it to come to an end!"

Izzy nodded, feeling weak, even the towel and soap in her hands felt heavy. Her head was pounding, but only because she hadn't stood up in so long. The nun followed her to the bathroom and saw that she went inside.

By herself again, Izzy set the towel on the counter, avoiding her hollow eyed reflection in the mirror. A neatly folded gray dress was also set on a wooden bench, by Sister Mary Thomas, Izzy assumed.