"Small steps mattered."
Monday morning at Payne Whitney started before the sun was fully up. Silver had set three alarms, each more obnoxious than the last, because she knew the temptation to quit would be strongest in those first seconds of consciousness when her knee reminded her exactly why this was a terrible idea.
The sports medicine wing was nearly empty at 5:45 AM. Just her, a janitor mopping the hallway, and the persistent hum of ventilation systems. She signed in at the desk where a sleepy work-study student barely glanced up from their organic chemistry textbook.
The PT room smelled like every training facility she'd ever known: rubber mats, industrial cleaning solution, and that particular staleness of recycled air. But walking in felt different now. This wasn't mandatory rehab anymore. This was her choosing to come back.
