One small thing at a time.
The first supermarket trip.
The first time she stayed alone in a room with the door closed by choice.
The first night she slept six uninterrupted hours.
The first time she laughed hard enough that afterward she realized she had gone several minutes without remembering the cabin.
Those became mile markers.
Her family helped restore her identification and financial accounts.
She learned technologies that had appeared while she was gone.
Smartphones baffled her.
Touchscreens annoyed her.
Navigation systems had changed dramatically.
“You mean it talks to you now?” she asked while learning a modern GPS.
Her sister laughed.
“It’s been doing that for years.”
“Nine years is apparently enough time for everybody to become lazy.”
It was one of the first jokes Joan made about the time she lost.
Her family laughed carefully.
Then Joan laughed too.
And for once, nobody felt guilty.
One question remained.
Would she ever drive again?
