Chapter 2: The Visit

The hospital smelled of disinfectant and rain — sterile, almost hollow. Nick Hart lingered in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. He’d spent two nights replaying the moment in his head: the crack, the scream, the stunned silence that followed.

Clara Vance sat propped up in her bed, pale beneath the harsh white lights. Her right leg was stretched out in front of her, elevated on two firm pillows. The thick plaster cast ran to mid-thigh, its surface smooth and chalky. Her heel was fully encased, but the front of her foot and her toes protruded bare, flushed pink against the cold air.

The skin there looked fragile — the soft underside of her toes slightly swollen, the nails faintly discolored from the swelling. Every few moments, the toes twitched, as if trying to remember how to belong to her.

Her uninjured left leg was bent comfortably under the blanket. Beside the bed leaned a pair of metal crutches, their rubber tips clean as new.

When she noticed him, Clara gave a faint smile. “You look like someone who’s been standing in the corridor rehearsing an apology.”

Nick tried to smile back, but it came out wrong. “I didn’t know if you’d want me here.”