The paramedics stabilized my arm and loaded me into the ambulance. I was trembling—from the pain, the rage, and the sheer embarrassment.
As we pulled away, we passed our front window.
I could see Jason’s silhouette on the couch.
At the hospital, they took X-rays. When the doctor returned, his expression was calm—but serious.
“You’ve got a fracture in your right arm,” he said. “We’ll put it in a cast. No lifting, no driving, no cooking anything heavy. You need real rest.”
They wrapped my arm from hand to almost shoulder. It felt heavy and useless. Every small move sent pain shooting through me.
“Let people help you,” the doctor said. “You can’t power through this.”
I went home with pain meds and a pile of instructions.
Jason was on the couch, TV on, phone in hand, like nothing had happened.
He looked up, saw the cast, and frowned.
