Chapter 2 - The Emergency Room
I don't remember the ambulance ride. I only remember the agonizing, sharp pain with every shallow breath. Apparently, a neighbor in the apartment below ours had heard the heavy impact and called emergency services.
When the paramedics arrived, Grant was standing over me, looking absolutely devastated.
"She tripped on the rug," he told them, his voice thick with rehearsed panic. "She fell down the stairs. Please, help my wife."
He even had the audacity to squeeze my hand tightly while they loaded me onto the stretcher. I was fading in and out of consciousness, completely unable to contradict his lies.
In the intensive care unit, a physician stood at the foot of my bed, reviewing a chart with a grim expression.
"Mrs. Hart," the doctor said gently, "you have three severely broken ribs, a punctured lung that required a chest tube, internal bleeding, and significant bruising around your throat. This trauma is not consistent with a simple fall."
When the police arrived hours later to ask questions, I could barely speak. The oxygen mask covered my face, and the fear paralyzed my vocal cords. I just shook my head, closing my eyes against the glaring lights.
Before I called a lawyer, before I called the police back, I needed to know I had a safe place to go. I reached for the phone on the bedside table and dialed my parents' number. My hands were shaking so violently I almost dropped the receiver.
"Dad," I whispered, fighting desperately for enough breath to speak. "I'm in the hospital. Grant hurt me. I need somewhere safe to stay when they discharge me."
There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line.
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Then, my mother’s voice came through, cold and dismissive.
"Grant has a temper, Evelyn, but you always provoke him. You need to learn when to stay quiet."
