Harry's gut simmered, acid thick and bubbling as he watched his daughter leave the room in her sensible shoes and clothing that looked to have been tossed on in a hurry. His heartbeat was a tattoo he could feel in his throat, blocking the acid in his stomach from bubbling over and spilling out onto the floor in violent retches.
She hadn't had to say the words. He blamed himself too.
As soon as Mathilde had received the call to go to the hospital, he had thought of Violet. She had been upset with him and was afraid she had been the one in the car accident. But the moment Mattie told him it was Carl, he knew that this somehow had to do with him.
They met Constance outside of the emergency wing and she told them a little of what was going on. Bar. Uber. Drunk driver. Harry's stomach lurche
