Chapter 3

Rita lay on a narrow bed beneath harsh white lights, her injured leg supported by pillows, careful hands having positioned it so the knee would not move. Every small vibration—the wheels of the stretcher stopping, a door closing somewhere down the corridor—seemed to echo inside the joint.

A doctor examined her knee slowly, methodically. He asked her to describe the pain, the movement, the moment it happened. Rita chose her words carefully, just as she had chosen silence during the night. She did not mention Antony. She said only that her leg had been twisted while she was at home.

They sent her for imaging.

The minutes stretched long as she lay still, staring at the ceiling, afraid that even breathing too deeply might shift something inside her knee. When the doctor returned, his expression was serious but not alarmed. He explained that the joint had been badly strained—possibly a ligament injury—and that the knee needed to be immobilized immediately. A nurse brought the brace.