and a concussion.
She was alive.
I sat down in the corridor because my knees could no longer hold me.
Alive is a small word until it becomes the only one that matters.
When Chloe woke that afternoon, her first question was not about Marcus, Sylvia, or even her pain.
She whispered, did I ruin Thanksgiving.
That is what abuse does.
It teaches the wounded person to apologize for bleeding.
I held her hand between both of mine.
A hospital band circled her wrist. Dried blood remained near her mouth.
