Two years after the hospital night, my life looked completely different. I carried medication everywhere and checked ingredient lists constantly, yet I no longer doubted my own body.
One evening while cooking dinner in my safe kitchen, I watched my parents laughing with Miles and Lena around the table while carefully respecting every safety rule.
The memory of shrimp pasta still existed, yet it no longer controlled my identity.
I was never dramatic.
I was simply telling the truth about my own survival.
