Trixies’s Gamble
Copyright© 2026 by Heel
Chapter 6
Trixie sat on the edge of the bed, crutches leaning against the wall, her splinted leg throbbing, limp foot barely lifting off the floor with each trembling attempt to stand. Every small movement sent sharp jolts of pain through her thigh, and sweat beaded on her forehead as she fought to breathe steadily. She had been struggling alone for days, and exhaustion weighed on her like a heavy cloak.
Then the door opened softly, and one by one, the women of the town began to arrive. They moved with purpose, carrying warm water, clean cloths, and gentle authority. Their eyes assessed her silently, not with pity, but with quiet determination. They had seen the aftermath of Hank Miller’s attack. They had measured the toll of her pain and humiliation. And they had decided: enough.
The women moved around her with calm efficiency. Mrs. Callahan, the town seamstress, knelt beside the bed, her hands steady as she gently adjusted the splint. Others brought soft pillows to support Trixie’s leg, warm compresses for her throbbing muscles, and a basin of water to wash the sweat from her face.
Trixie flinched at first, unused to touch that was both careful and firm. No one laughed at her. No one whispered jabs about her stumble with the crutches, the mess, or the coins she had counted out painfully days before.
“Let me see that leg properly,” Mrs. Callahan said, her voice gentle but commanding. She motioned for the others to step back.
Dr. Hale arrived with more supplies, nodding politely to the women. This time, there was no rush, no ledger, no half-measures of laudanum. The doctor administered a proper dose, enough to dull the sharpest pain but leave her conscious.
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