27
Late morning the next day, Bobby rushed into my office while I was on a break, choking out the words that Hanna was here. Noting the concern on his face, I dashed out to the waiting room. Hanna sat, cradling her head, her breathing ragged.
Resting my hand on her back, I asked, “What happened?”
“Oh, Grant.” She sprung up and tightly wound her arms around my neck. “I was hit. Rear-ended.”
I pulled back to look at her. “Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m okay. Just shook up.” She caught her breath. “I almost hit a child.” She began to weep.
“Let’s go into my office,” I said, when a patient entered the waiting room. I sat her down on the sofa after we entered and sat next to her. “Tell me what happened.”
“A child... eight, nine, ten...ran i
