The Neighbor

Chapter 35

⚠️ panic attacks; PTSD

A few days later

The early morning fall air is crisp and invigorating as you slide out of the passenger seat. Wanda takes your hand, helping you stand. "Slow, baby," she reminds you gently, her arm securing around your waist as she shuts your door with a soft thud.

"Welcome home, my love," she whispers close to your ear, her breath warm against your cheek. You take in the sight of your house, the muted colors of dawn painting it nostalgic. It's a sight you've dreamed of for the past three weeks, each day in the hospital stretching longer than the last, but now, finally, you've been given the okay to finish your recovery in the comfort of home.

Wanda's other hand clasps your discharge folder, its contents brimming with recovery instructions and details, a tangible reminder of the hurdles yet to come. As you step forward, your legs shaky but eager, the familiar crunch of dry leaves underfoot stirs a memory of last autumn, simpler times before hospitals and hushed conversations in sterile hallways.

"The garden's missed you," Wanda says, guiding you slowly up the path. You pause, noticing the front garden overgrown vines and the roses that have begun to wilt, the garden reflecting your own neglected state.

"I think it misses you more," you respond with a light, teasing tone, glancing at her with a playful smirk. "After all, you're the one with the green thumb."

Wanda chuckles softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Maybe so," she admits, "but it's always been happier when you're here to admire it."

"You're probably right," you reply, a spark of your old humor flickering in your voice. "I'm sure it was terribly quiet around here without my beautiful singing every morning."

Wanda's laughter rings out, clear and joyful, breaking the morning stillness. "Oh, I missed that most of all," she teases back, squeezing your hand as you both reach the porch steps. "The birds were starting to think they could take over."

As you approach the porch steps, Wanda's grip tightens; firm, protective, and secure. Each step feels like a small victory, her support your unwavering anchor. By the time you reach the top, you need a moment to catch your breath, the lingering effects of the pneumonia stubbornly persistent.

She looks at you with a mix of concern and tenderness, her hands gently cupping your cheeks. "Do you need your inhaler, baby?" she asks, her eyes darting to the car where your hospital bag lies, poised for retrieval after she gets you settled in bed.

You shake your head slightly, managing a weak smile. "Not yet, just needed a moment," you assure her, appreciating her ever watchful care.

You start moving again; Wanda unlocks the door while maintaining a secure grip on you. You take in the sight of home, noticing how organized and clean it is; Wanda taking care of everything even though she spent the majority of her time with you at the hospital.

Your eyes dart up to the landing, catching sight of a banner that reads "Welcome home, momma." The boys handwriting scrawls across it, adorned with drawings and encouraging words.

"The boys," she whispers in your ear. You swallow hard, suddenly becoming emotional at the sight.

"I love them," you murmur, your voice thick. "I can't get over the fact they call me 'momma' now."

Wanda's eyes soften, her thumb caressing your cheek. "It feels so right," she whispers, her voice tender. "Momma," she says again, drawing out the word with affection.

You raise a brow, a playful smirk forming on your face. "Are you calling me that now?"

She mirrors your expression, raising a brow in kind. "Only if you call me 'mommy,'" she winks.