The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound keeping me tethered. I sat slouched in the stiff chair by Sage’s hospital bed, my hands folded so tightly in my lap my nails cut crescents into my skin.
Her skin looked gray under the fluorescent lights, an IV trailing from her arm, bandages thick around her shoulder and neck. Machines breathed beside her, a reminder that she was still alive, even if she looked like she was barely hanging on.
A couple hours ago, the doctor had pulled me aside, voice low, clinical, like he was reciting facts instead of talking about my Sage. He said she had lost a dangerous amount of blood. If she had lost even a cup more, she wouldn’t have survived the transport here. They gave her a transfusion, but it was like her body was rejecting it. Like she c
