Michael
Pair of eyes opened to the pale, diffused morning light coming through hospital blinds and the consistent beep of monitors. My shoulder throbbed with a dull pain to tell me that I lived. Dominic and I struggled over a gun, the bullet merely grazing me, nothing major according to the doctors. A couple inches to the left of that and it’s a different ballgame.
Betty had dozed off in the chair next to my bed, her small hand gripped mine even while asleep. She looked exhausted. Her eyes were shadowed by dark circles, and her face was pale and drawn. Even incedosta, she looked troubled, her brow furrowed as though she was wrestling with nightmares.
I saw how she was breathing, and I suddenly felt choked up by the magnitude of my love for her. The nearness to losing her. How close she
