Left Bleeding While He Chose Her
Language: en
The emergency room door was left slightly ajar, and Ted’s voice cut through the sterile hallway, reaching me loud and clear. He was telling the doctor that Daphne was a violinist. That her hands were her livelihood, that they absolutely could not be damaged. He demanded they treat her first. At that exact moment, I had just been pulled from the twisted metal of our car by the firefighters. My left wrist was slick with my own blood, a gash on my temple was steadily weeping down the side of my face, and a massive, ugly bruise was blooming across my thigh. By the time the ambulance arrived,…