Before I could begin to think of what to say or do, he—she—took another step, and her ankle twisted again. I shoved aside the myriad emotions roiling within me and reached out without thinking. “Let me help you.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” I said. “And I can help you. I’m a doctor.”
“Really?” The pride in her voice upon hearing those words was unmistakable.
“Yes, really. A lot’s happened in the past eighteen years. You’d know that if you’d been around.” I didn’t hide the note of bitterness that snuck into my voice. Part of me wanted to walk away, leave this person on the side of the road with a possibly broken foot. If this was Brett, he didn’t deserve my compassion.
Except we don’t give compassion because it’s deserved, and if this was my Brett, I needed to know what happened to h
