My son-in-law is going to pay for this………
My phone rang at 11:43 p.m., and the voice on the other end made my heart race before I even processed the words.
“Richard, get to St. Mary’s now,” said Dr. Alan Mercer, a trauma surgeon I had worked alongside for two decades. “It’s your daughter.”
I was already reaching for my keys. “What happened?”
“She came into the ER forty minutes ago. Severe trauma to her back. Possible assault.” He paused. “You need to see this yourself.”
Ten minutes later, I was pushing through the ambulance entrance, still in the same sweater I had fallen asleep in. Alan was waiting outside Trauma Two, his face drained in a way I had never seen before—not even on the worst nights of my career.
“Where’s Emily?” I asked.
He didn’t reply. He simply pulled the curtain aside.
