← Back to overview

You need to eat

The Weight of a Broken Heart

The sterile, fluorescent hum of the hospital was a jarring contrast to the warmth of the girls' shared house. Everything was too white, too bright, and smelled too much of antiseptic and cold metal. Amelia sat on the edge of the high examination bed, her small frame looking even tinier in the oversized hospital gown they had insisted she change into. Her right arm was supported by a temporary foam sling, but the throbbing hadn't subsided. It felt like a heartbeat had relocated to her wrist—a heavy, pulsating ache that made her vision swim whenever she tried to focus.

The doctor, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes but a gentle smile, stepped back from the X-ray light box. "It’s a distal radius fracture, Amelia. The bone is broken, and there’s some minor displacement. We won’t need surgery, fortunately, but we are going to have to set it and put you in a hard cast for the next six weeks."

Six weeks. The words felt like a death sentence. To an idol, six weeks was a lifetime. It meant missing the choreography sessions for the new single, missing the promotional shoots, and being a literal "dead weight" during the very time she was already feeling like an outsider.

"Six weeks?" Amelia’s voice was a fragile whisper. "But we have the music video... the comeback..."

Sophia, who had refused to leave the room despite the nurses' initial protests, stepped forward and took Amelia’s left hand. "Don't even think about the comeback, Meels. We’ll adjust. We always do."

"But I’ll just be standing there," Amelia choked out, a fresh tear tracking through the dried salt on her cheek. "I’ll look even more out of place. People will say I’m lazy or that I’m making excuses."

"Let them say whatever they want," Megan’s voice came from the doorway. She had been pacing the hallway like a caged tiger until the doctor finally let her in. She walked straight to the bed, ignoring the doctor entirely, and pressed her forehead against Amelia’s. "If anyone says a word about you being lazy, they’ll have to answer to me. And I’m feeling very, very un-peaceful right now."

The process of setting the bone was a blur of sharp pain and gasping breaths. Amelia squeezed Sophia’s hand so hard she was sure she was cutting off the older girl's circulation, but Sophia didn't flinch. She just kept humming a soft Filipino lullaby, her voice a steady anchor in the sea of agony. Megan stayed by Amelia’s head, shielding her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the doctor working on the limb.

By the time they emerged from the hospital, the sun had long since set. Amelia’s right arm was now encased in a heavy, pristine white cast that felt like a lead weight. The girls were waiting by the car, huddled together in the chilly night air. As soon as they saw Amelia, they moved as one.

Daniela was the first to reach her, her face still puffy from crying. She didn't say anything; she just gently tucked a strand of Amelia’s blonde hair behind her ear and looked at the cast with a mixture of guilt and sorrow.

"I picked out the color," Yoonchae said, trying to inject some levity into the moment as they climbed into the car. "I told them white because it’s a blank canvas. We’re going to cover it in drawings and messages. It’s going to be the most famous cast in the world."

Amelia tried to smile, but she was exhausted—drained by the pain, the adrenaline, and the lingering echo of the man’s hateful shouting.

Back at the house, the atmosphere was hushed. The usual chaos of Katseye was replaced by a coordinated, quiet mission to make Amelia comfortable. Manon and Lara had already gone ahead to prepare the living room. They had moved the mattresses from the bedrooms into a massive, cushioned fortress on the floor, surrounded by every pillow in the house.

"Hospital beds are the worst," Lara said, helping Amelia out of her hoodie—a task that proved frustratedly difficult with the new cast. "You’re sleeping here with us tonight. No stairs, no hard surfaces."

"I can do it, Lara," Amelia mumbled, feeling a surge of that old, toxic shame. "I’m not a baby. I shouldn't be this much trouble."

Manon stopped what she was doing and looked at Amelia. Her expression was uncharacteristically stern. "Amelia Rozek, if you say the word 'trouble' one more time, I am going to hide your phone for a month. We are your sisters. Taking care of you isn't a chore; it’s a privilege. Do you understand?"

Amelia bit her lip and nodded, looking down at her lap.

"Good," Manon said, her voice softening instantly. She reached out and traced the edge of the cast with a gentle finger. "Now, let’s get you into some pajamas that actually fit over that thing."

The next hour was a testament to their bond. Daniela found a pair of oversized, silk button-down pajamas that were easy to slide on. Sophia brought out a tray of warm soup, sitting cross-legged in front of Amelia and literally feeding her when Amelia’s left-handed coordination failed her.

"Open up, Meely," Sophia coaxed, blowing on a spoonful of broth. "You need the nutrients to knit that bone back together."

Amelia swallowed the soup, feeling the warmth spread through her chest. "It’s good, Soph. Thank you."

As the night deepened, the seven of them settled into the giant nest of blankets. The television was on low, playing a nature documentary that none of them were actually watching. Amelia was positioned in the center, her casted arm propped up on a specialized silk pillow that Lara had found.

Megan was curled into Amelia’s left side, her arm draped protectively across Amelia’s stomach. Yoonchae was at her feet, and the others were scattered around them like spokes on a wheel.

"I keep thinking about what he said," Amelia whispered into the darkness. The house was so quiet that her voice seemed to carry further than intended.

The room went still.

"He called me the weak link," Amelia continued, her voice trembling. "And now... look at me. I literally can't even feed myself. I can't dance the new choreo. I’m going to be in the back of every formation. He was right. I am the dead weight."

"Amelia, stop," Lara said, sitting up and looking at her with wide, pained eyes. "That man was a hateful stranger. Why are you giving his words more weight than ours? We spend twenty-four hours a day with you. We know your heart. We know your talent."

"But the fans will see it too," Amelia argued. "They’ll see me struggling, and they’ll agree with him. They already talk about my body, and now I’m going to be the girl with the broken arm who can't keep up."

Daniela shifted, leaning over to look Amelia in the eye. "Meels, do you know why I love dancing with you? It’s not because you’re 'perfect.' It’s because you have this light. When you smile on stage, the whole room feels warmer. You think people watch us because we’re robots? No. They watch us because they feel something. And you make them feel happy."

"Exactly," Sophia added, reaching over to squeeze Amelia’s hand. "And as for the choreography... we’ve already talked. We’re going to talk to the performance team tomorrow. We’ll adjust the blocking. We’ll make the cast part of the concept if we have to. You aren't going to the back, Amelia. You’re staying right where you belong."

"We’ll all dance with one arm behind our backs if we have to," Yoonchae chirped from the foot of the bed, making everyone let out a startled, wet laugh. "We can call it the 'Katseye Sling' trend. It’ll go viral on TikTok."

Amelia laughed, a genuine, bubbling sound that made her ribs ache in the best way. For a moment, the darkness in her head receded.

"You guys are crazy," she whispered.

"Crazy about you," Megan muttered, tightening her grip. "Now, sleep. You’ve had a long day of being a victim of a crime and a medical marvel. Your brain needs to shut up."

Amelia closed her eyes, letting the rhythmic breathing of her sisters lull her toward sleep. But even as she drifted off, a small part of her remained terrified. The physical pain was manageable, but the cracks in her self-esteem felt much deeper than the one in her radius.

The following morning brought a new set of challenges. Waking up was an exercise in frustration. Amelia couldn't brush her own teeth effectively, she couldn't tie her hair back, and even getting a glass of water felt like an insurmountable task.

She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection. Her eyes were sunken, her skin pale, and her blonde hair was a tangled mess. She felt ugly. She felt broken.

"Need some help, Meels?"

Lara was standing in the doorway, holding a hairbrush and a collection of colorful ribbons. She didn't wait for an answer; she just walked over and began gently working through the knots in Amelia’s hair.

"I feel so useless, Lara," Amelia said, her voice cracking.

"You’re not useless. You’re healing," Lara corrected her softly. "There’s a difference. People aren't machines, Amelia. We break sometimes. But the cool thing about bones is that when they grow back, the break point is actually stronger than it was before."

Lara finished the braid and tied it off with a bright blue ribbon. "There. Now you look like a princess again. A princess with a very sturdy weapon on her arm."

"Thanks, Lara."

"Come on. Dani is in the kitchen and she’s trying to convince Sophia that we should have ice cream for breakfast because 'calcium is good for bones.'"

The day passed in a blur of domestic care. The girls refused to let Amelia do anything for herself. If she so much as looked toward the kitchen, someone was there with a snack. If she shifted on the sofa, three people were there to adjust her pillows.

It was overwhelming, and at times, it made Amelia want to scream with frustration. She missed her independence. She missed the version of herself that didn't need to be handled like a piece of fine china.

By the afternoon, the "cast-signing ceremony" began. Yoonchae had bought a set of permanent markers in every color of the rainbow.

"I get the prime real estate," Megan declared, grabbing a black marker and scrawling *MEGAN’S PROPERTY - DO NOT TOUCH* in large, bold letters near the thumb.

"So mature," Manon deadpanned, taking a gold marker. She drew a delicate, intricate crown near the elbow, and inside it, she wrote: *Our Queen.*

Sophia wrote a long message in Tagalog that she refused to translate, though she promised it was a blessing for a fast recovery. Lara drew a series of tiny, colorful hearts. Daniela drew a stick figure of Amelia doing a kick-flip, which made everyone roar with laughter because Amelia was notoriously uncoordinated on a skateboard.

Finally, it was Yoonchae’s turn. She took a bright pink marker and drew a large, smiling cat face. Underneath it, she wrote in neat, careful English: *The heart of Katseye. We love you, Meely.*

Amelia looked down at the cast. It was no longer a cold, white reminder of her injury. It was a mosaic of their love. It was loud, chaotic, and beautiful—just like them.

"I think I want to try and eat something substantial today," Amelia said suddenly, looking at Sophia.

The room went quiet. They all knew the struggle Amelia had been having with food, the way she had been shrinking herself to try and fit into a mold that didn't exist.

Sophia’s eyes lit up. "Anything you want, honey. I’ll make that Serbian stew your mom told us about. Or we can order that pasta place you like?"

"The stew," Amelia said firmly. "I want to feel strong."

The kitchen soon filled with the scent of simmering meat, paprika, and onions. The girls hovered around Amelia as she ate, their eyes tracking every spoonful with a mixture of anxiety and hope. For the first time in weeks, Amelia didn't count the calories in her head. She didn't think about how she would look on camera. She just thought about the warmth in her belly and the fact that she needed to get better for the girls sitting around her.

As the sun began to set on their second day of recovery, a notification chimed on Sophia’s phone. Her face went pale as she read the screen.

"What is it?" Manon asked, her voice sharpening.

"The video," Sophia whispered. "Someone filmed the incident at the mall. It’s gone viral."

Amelia felt a cold spike of dread. "Is it... is it the man? Is he saying those things?"

Sophia hesitated, then turned the phone around.

It wasn't just a video of the man. It was a video of the aftermath. It showed the girls surrounding Amelia like a phalanx. It showed Megan’s raw fury, Sophia’s calm leadership, and the way they had shielded her from the cameras.

But it was the comments that were different this time.

*Look at how they protect her. That’s real sisterhood.*

*Amelia looks so hurt, my heart is breaking for her. Who is that man? He needs to be arrested.*

*The way Megan didn't even hesitate to step in front of her... Katseye is a family.*

*Stay strong, Amelia! We love our Aussie-Serbian princess! #GetWellSoonAmelia*

Amelia read the words, her eyes widening. There were thousands of them. For every one hateful comment, there were a hundred messages of support, love, and outrage on her behalf.

"They... they aren't agreeing with him?" Amelia asked, her voice trembling.

"Of course they aren't, Meels," Lara said, leaning her head against Amelia’s shoulder. "We told you. The world sees what we see. They see a girl who is loved because she’s worth loving."

Amelia leaned back into the cushions, the weight of the last few days finally feeling like something she could carry. Her arm still ached, and her heart was still fragile, but the cracks were being filled with something stronger than bone.

"Hey, Megs?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Can we take a picture of the cast? I want to post it. I want to tell them I’m okay."

Megan grinned, pulling out her phone and framing the shot. "That’s my girl. Let’s show them that even with one arm, you’re still the baddest visual in the game."

As the flash went off, Amelia didn't hide. She didn't look for flaws. She just smiled, surrounded by the six women who had taught her that being broken wasn't the end of the story—it was just the beginning of a stronger one.