“Yes. I’m also documenting today’s call. We can restore the referral, and I want you to keep Friday’s appointment. If anyone asks you to exercise before then, your answer should be no.”
“Thank you.”
“Laurel,” she added, “recovery is not a deadline. You delivered three babies six weeks ago. Your priorities are healing, adequate nutrition, rest where possible, and follow-up care. Weight loss is not your assignment right now.”
I pressed my fingers against my eyelids.
Those were almost the exact words I remembered from the hospital.
Grant had been standing beside my bed when Dr. Patel gave us the discharge instructions. He had nodded. He had asked whether I could climb stairs. He had carried the blue folder containing my recovery plan to the car.
I had not seen it since.
After the call, I checked the basket where we kept medical paperwork. The babies’ pediatric summaries were there. My insurance explanation of benefits was there. The blue folder was not.
“What are you looking for?” Mara asked.
“The plan Dr. Patel gave me when I left the hospital.”
We searched the kitchen desk, the nursery shelves, my nightstand, and the folder where Grant kept tax receipts.
Nothing.
At noon, Tessa called.
“Grant says you had some kind of misunderstanding with Hannah.”
“There was no misunderstanding. I never enrolled.”
“He told me you wanted help feeling like yourself again.”
“Did I ever tell you that?”
“Not directly.”
“Then why did you mock my body at dinner?”
She sighed as if I were exhausting her.
“Grant said you respond better when people are blunt. He said you two had agreed on accountability.”
I gripped the edge of the counter.
“Your version of accountability was humiliating me in front of my daughter?”
“Piper should have been upstairs.”
“Piper lives here.”
“I’m not trying to fight with you. This pilot could be a wonderful opportunity. Real mothers are tired of impossible fitness models. Your story would be relatable.”
“My story belongs to me.”
“Of course it does.”
“Then remove it from your campaign.”
Another silence.
“I can pause the photography,” she said. “But Grant signed a paid contract. Cancellation has to go through membership and legal.”
“I didn’t sign it.”
Her voice changed slightly. “He submitted an electronic signature under your name.”
“That is not the same sentence.”
“I need to call him.”
“Send me every document first.”
“Laurel—”
“Every document with my name, medical information, photograph, or signature. Today.”
I ended the call before she could refuse.
Grant came home at six carrying a digital bathroom scale.
He set the box on the kitchen island.
“This syncs with the ForgeWell app,” he said. “It tracks trends, not just weight.”
