How long are they keeping you?
What is this going to cost?
Can you sign anything from there?
He never asked whether I was afraid.
He never asked whether I had slept.
He never asked how badly it hurt when the nurses had to move me.
Still, I waited.
When my hospital-room door finally opened and Caleb walked in, relief rose in me before common sense could stop it.
For half a second, I saw only my husband of eleven years.
Then I saw his face.
He entered looking like a man collecting an overdue debt.
“Enough of this drama, Rebecca,” he said from the foot of the bed.
His shirt was perfectly ironed, and his expensive cologne reached me before he did.
“Get up. We’re going home.”
The medication made my thoughts slow, but not slow enough to misunderstand him.
“Caleb, I can’t.”
His jaw tightened.
“Don’t start with me.”
