Cole
Late afternoon sunlight drifts through several open windows overlooking my desk. I scan the notes I took on Misty’s injuries, written in untidy, looping scrawl. A physician’s handwriting. My mom always said I was going to be a great doctor based on my handwriting alone.
Four two-inch lacerations just below the wrist on her right arm. Twenty sutures. I’d used 5ml of sanitizing solution, one roll of medical grade, sterile gauze. If she were an actual patient, I’d see her back in five days to remove any sutures that hadn’t dissolved. And, based on the nature of the injury, I would have ordered antibiotics…. Yeah, antibiotics, a ten day round, just in case.
It hadn’t mattered. When she’d burst into the meeting last night, snarling at everyone and going as far as to point her manicured
