Say it isn't so chapter 1

 Say it isn't so

Chapter 1

I've always prided myself on my position of Vice President of product development for a high tech firm at the forefront of innovation. It's a battlefield, and I'm one of the few women left standing. Every day, I walk into an office tower ruled by men in expensive suits, their silver hair gleaming under fluorescent lights, their voices dominating every conversation. It's a world where every woman is either overlooked or scrutinized, and I've worked too hard to let myself be either.

My appearance and intelligence are my armour. Today, I chose a tailored black blazer, a crisp white blouse, and a high-waist navy pencil skirt that hugged my figure and showed my long legs. My heels are sleek, black stilettos that clicked sharply against the polished marble floors, the sound echoing.

My blonde hair was swept into a low, flawless chignon, and my makeup was understated but impeccable. In a world where men hold the power, I've learned to use my image as a weapon.

This wasn't just any day. Today, I was preparing for the biggest presentation of my career, the one where I'd face the CEO, Richard Smith, and the board of directors. Richard was the epitome of the men who ruled this world: greying temples, a deep voice that could silence a room, and an air of authority that never wavered. I respected him, but I also knew his skepticism. For weeks, I had worked tirelessly to perfect my proposal for the company's leap into the introduction of AI in our offering. This was my moment to prove I belonged here, not just as a woman, but as the best in the room.

I made my way to the executive floor, passing clusters of colleagues exchanging quiet laughs over coffee, their eyes flickering toward me as I walked by. Their gazes always lingered, not just on my face but on my heels, long legs, breasts and my tailored skirt. It was part of the unspoken gauntlet I faced every day. I didn't flinch.

Look but don't touch.

The boardroom was already set, my presentation slides glowing on the screen at the front. But before I could step inside, my cell buzzed and a deep voice was at the end of the line.

"Beca," Richard said, his tone calm but firm. "Can I have a word before we start in the 25th floor boardroom?"

I turned, squaring my shoulders as I headed towards the elevators to go down 2 flights of stairs. His tone was unreadable, as always. My pulse quickened slightly, but I kept my composure. In this world, any sign of weakness was a victory for someone else. Whatever this was about, I was ready.

I walked down the hallway, the anticipation of what was to come buzzing through my veins. I had spent weeks preparing for this moment, ready to prove to Richard and the board that I was more than just another woman in the room. As I took one last glance at my reflection in the fancy elevator doors, I decided to use the stairs, everything seemed perfect, until it wasn't.

It happened so fast. One second, I was walking confidently down the sleek, polished stairs, the sharp click of my black stilettos echoing against the cement. My body was poised, graceful, as I balanced each step with practised ease. But the very next moment, my foot caught on the edge of the step.

There was no warning, no time to adjust. I felt a jolt of panic surge through me as my left heel twisted and snapped off my $1600 pair of shoes, and before I could do anything to stop it, I was tumbling forward. The air seemed to rush past me as I fell, my arms flailing uselessly in an attempt to grab something, anything to break my fall.

The sound was deafening, the crack of bones splintering through the air, followed by a sharp, sickening snap that made my stomach lurch. It was as if the world had frozen for a split second, and then the pain hit, blinding and all-consuming. I landed hard, the sharp edge of the stair digging into my skin as my left leg twisted beneath me at a grotesque angle. I could feel the parts of my bones grinding against each other, and a jolt of agony shot through my body, overwhelming every sense.

My breath caught in my throat, and I couldn't even scream. I was paralyzed by the intensity of the pain, the realization hitting me only moments later, something was seriously wrong. My left leg, my poor leg, the one that had always carried me with such strength and confidence, was badly broken.

I looked down at my leg, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. It was bent in a way that it shouldn't have been, the bone jutting out in an unnatural curve. The blood drained from my face as nausea swept over me, my hands trembling in disbelief. My left leg, which had always been a source of pride, was now a broken mess, useless and unrecognizable.

I couldn't move it. I couldn't feel it the way I should and did all those years since I had never broken a bone in my life.

Everything around me seemed to spin, the world blurring as I tried to focus, but the pain kept pulling me under. I barely registered the sounds of footsteps rushing toward me. My vision was clouded, my head dizzy from the shock. It felt like I was sinking, my body refusing to cooperate as the weight of the situation crashed down on me.

David's voice finally broke through the haze. "Beca," he said urgently, kneeling beside me. His words were frantic, but I could barely understand him. The only thing that mattered was the pain, the searing, intense throb of my shattered leg.

"We need to get you to the hospital. I'm calling an ambulance."

The hospital was a blur after that. I remember being moved carefully, painfully onto a stretcher, and the ambulance ride felt like an eternity. The constant jostling sent waves of pain through me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to get through it, to be strong. But I felt small, helpless in a way I had never known. The confident woman who had walked into that building was no longer there.

It can't be broken...please.

The next thing I remember is waking up in a sterile, white hospital room. The harsh fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, making my head throb in sync with the pulsing pain in my broken leg. My eyes fluttered open, and the unfamiliar cold of a hospital room hit me like a slap. The faint scent of antiseptic mixed with the sterile, clinical air, nothing like my polished office I had just come from.

My heart raced as I tried to sit up, but something stopped me. The weight on my left leg elevated. I blinked and looked in confusion. My leg was in a massive, ugly, heavy full-leg cast, wrapped in white and a thick layer of plaster / fiber or whatever you call cast material nowadays.

Not a cast...what's next crutches?

It was a suffocating presence, a constant reminder of everything I had lost in that single moment. I tried to move it, just a little, but the pressure was unbearable. The immobility felt foreign, unnatural, as though my body had betrayed me in the most humiliating way.

The cast was so heavy, that it felt like it might crush me. I could barely move my toes, the pain still sharp and unrelenting. My breath caught in my throat as I realized I had no control over it anymore.

I shifted, struggling to find a comfortable position, but the movement sent a wave of dizziness over me. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt an overwhelming surge of helplessness flood through me. My mind raced as I tried to process what had happened, but it felt like I was drowning in the weight of the situation.

That's when I heard her, a calm, soothing voice cutting through the haze. "Beca, take it easy. You're in the hospital. We've stabilized your broken leg, but it's going to take some time to heal."

The female doctor, standing at the side of the bed, looked down at me with a gentle yet concerned expression. She was wearing a white coat, her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her face was a soft blend of professionalism and compassion, but I could hear the worry beneath her words.

"We've taken X-rays, and both the fibula and tibia are broken," she continued. "The fractures are severe, and we'll need to keep you in different casts for several months. You'll need surgery, but after that, your recovery process will be slow. Crutches will be your new constant companions for the foreseeable future."

She was lovely but her voice felt distant, muffled by the roaring inside my head. I couldn't fathom it. I didn't want to hear it.

Fibula...Tibia...Surgery...Casts...Months...Crutches. The words felt like a punch to my gut. The mere thought of me being on crutches made my stomach churn. I had never needed help. I had always prided myself on my independence, my ability to stand tall and face every challenge head-on. But now, I was being told I'd need crutches to move, to get from one place to another, to navigate this new, unfamiliar world.

I tried to speak, but my mouth was dry, my words thick with disbelief. "Crutches?" I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"This can't be real. Seriously months on crutches...me...???..."

Say it isn't so.
Chapter 2 to come
Beca