ora

er the blinding surgical lights, Dr. Harris wore sterile gloves, usin

d tissue. I bit down on a rolled-up towel so hard my jaw ached,

ond-degree burns. He inhaled sharply through his

IV needle into the uninjured vein of my ri

odstream, the rigid tension in my muscles f

rs of the ER chim

suit lacking even a single wrinkle, looking as if the

ench of Ilene's perfume wafted off his clot

my marriage, a constant reminder of the thir

n at my bandaged chest from his towering h

was feeling. He turned his head directly to Dr. Ha

of warmth. He sounded like a collector assess

he pathetic, lingering moisture

out long-term skin graft surgeries, severe scarring was inev

ly dissatisfied with the answer, clearly annoyed that

d out a heavy set of keys, and dropped them into the metal surgic

on, Ethan announced that these were the ke

after I was discharged. He told me no

he glaring surgical lights above and as

raumatized by the night's events, and the quiet environment

er PTSD, so for everyone's sake, separa

n I had loved for five years. Suddenl

al wife has to give up her marital

y on the metal bed rails, leaning over me with the oppressi

te control. He never tolerated a

and not make this situation a

inching. A cold, absolute

ed hand and grabbed the heavy

tisfied smirk began to form on his lip

ed the heavy keys violen

jacket and clattered onto the steril

he door, spitting out the words wit

charity a