The hospital smelled like disinfectant and cold air.
Bella sat with her injured wrist raised on a pillow, the bandage thick and tight. The sting was constant, but it was nothing compared to the numbness spreading through her chest.
They had cleaned the wound, stitched what they could, and left her in a curtained bay that didn't really block the noise of other people's lives.
No one came to ask who should be called.
No one asked if she had someone to take her home.
Her mother had thrown her out.
Steven had chosen Lisa.
Bella leaned back and closed her eyes.
She should cry.
She should feel dramatic heartbreak the way movies promised.
But all she felt was exhaustion.
After an hour, a doctor walked in with a clipboard and a grave expression.
“Bella Hart?"
“Yes."
“I'm Dr. Wilson.
