I reached for my purse on the bedside chair, my fingers catching on the strap of my watch.
My phone was inside the purse, still holding the text message from Graham’s uncle Paul that had arrived at six o’clock.
Paul had written that he saw Judith follow me toward the basement door, but he had left the house before the fall.
“Is there anyone else we should call for you tonight?” Dr. Mercer asked.
I did not answer him, focusing instead on the steady drip of the IV.
The pain made it hard to draw a full breath, but the silence in the room felt even tighter.
“The police will want to speak with you once you are settled in a room upstairs,” the doctor said.
He turned off the light board, leaving only the dim green glow of the monitors.
A nurse with silver-rimmed glasses entered at ten o’clock carrying a small digital camera.
She placed a blue clipboard on my lap, holding out a black ballpoint pen.
“This is a consent form for medical photography,” she said.
“We need to document the bruising on your back and side before the swelling peaks.”
I took the pen, my fingers cold against the plastic.
“Does my husband have to sign this too?” I asked.
“No,” the nurse said, her voice quiet. “Only you.”
I signed my name at the bottom of the white page, the ink dragging slightly on the paper.
The nurse helped me turn onto my right side, supporting my shoulder with a firm, warm hand.
The movement brought a sharp burn that made me hold my breath.
She positioned the camera a few inches from my back, the small lens clicking in the quiet room.
The flash flared twice against the pale green wall, casting quick shadows that disappeared as fast as they came.
“The bruises are already turning dark purple,” the nurse said, adjusting the camera settings.
“There is a long, distinct mark near your shoulder blade.”
I kept my eyes fixed on the electrical outlet near the baseboard, counting the tiny screws.
“We will keep these photos in your permanent medical file,” she said, locking the camera in a small drawer.
She left the room, promising to return with another dose of pain medication in an hour.
I pulled my phone from my purse under the blanket, my thumb hovering over the screen.
I opened my contact list and scrolled down to Vera, the administrative assistant at the school district office.
Vera had a quiet, three-room cottage near the river, and she had told me twice that her spare room was always empty.
