Guilt vs. Grief

(Camilla’s POV) [Five hours later] “She has several wounds,” a voice, calm and clinical, said. I recognized it as the doctor’s. He’s been in earlier, but I wasn't fully conscious then. I don't think I’m capable of being one right now, honestly. “But despite the severity, she’s stable. Physically, she’s going to be fine.” “What about recovery? How long will it take?” Kalel asked, his voice laced with concern. The doctor paused, and I could almost picture him glancing down at the chart in his hands, considering his response. “It’s hard to say exactly. The physical wounds will heal with time, but it’s the psychological trauma that may take longer. We’ll monitor her closely, but she’s strong. I’m confident she’ll pull through.” I swallowed hard, my throat dry and scratchy, and tried to shift slightly in bed. Pain shot through my body, a sharp reminder that I wasn’t just lying in a hospital room—I was recovering from a nightmare. The door creaks open, and I turn my head slowly, seeing Kalel