“Do you know what day it is?”
“…Friday?”
“It’s Saturday,” the paramedic said gently.
Tessa sat beside the stretcher, gripping my hand.
“Stay with me,” she kept whispering.
At some point my parents arrived at the hospital. Madison too.
They stood at the edge of the ER room looking deeply inconvenienced.
The doctor—a calm man in his forties with tired eyes—examined the wound on the back of my head.
“How did this happen?” he asked.
My mouth opened.