Brooks:
The sound of the hospital monitor was the only steady thing in my world. Its relentless beep-beep-beep—an almost infuriating sense of normalcy in a place where nothing felt normal—echoed off the sterile white walls and polished floors. I had grown to hate that sound, because every time it paused, even for a fraction of a second, my heart seized in terror. But it always resumed, as if taunting me.
I sat slumped in a plastic chair beside Hattie’s bed, elbows resting on my knees, my head bowed. My hands were clasped so tightly my knuckles were pale, and I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of guilt. I would have welcomed suffocation if it meant I could take back the moments that led us here—my fists pounding into her father, the taste of blood in my mouth, Hattie’s gasp, a
