Ezra
“They are just legs, Kristen. Everyone has a pair,” I said, half jokingly, to relieve her tension. Or mine. But as she sat on the side of the bathtub and I examined the situation I shook my head. “There is no way those jeans are going to fit over that ankle.”
Her eyes widened. “The nurse was able to slide them off in the emergency room.”
I gently lifted the foot, and tried to work my finger under the cuff of her pants. “Madam, I hold an advanced degree in engineering. I’m very sure there is no way. Your ankle must be more swollen now.”
“Oh,” she said, seeming to wilt a little. “Well, if you have to cut them, can you try to cut them along the seam? Maybe I can repair them later.”
I went to the cupboard to take down the sharp pair of scissors I kept in a grooming kit. I did as she
