Through the dark glass of the window, the bright headlight beams swept across the white plaster of the bedroom ceiling, turning the shadows into a grid of moving lines before David drove away into the dark rain.
The rain tapped against the metal window frame. I lay still, my left hand pressed against my collarbone, waiting for the ache in my ribs to subside.
Beside me, Sophie stirred. Her small hand still held the white plastic hospital bracelet on my wrist, her thumb tucked under her chin.
I needed to reach the bathroom. The eighty-five-dollar medical cane David brought home yesterday sat out of reach, leaned against the dresser across the room.
I slid my legs over the edge of the mattress, my teeth clenched against the sudden burn in my side. The floor was cold beneath my palms.
I lowered myself onto the rug, moving inch by inch on my hands and knees. The hallway floorboards felt rough against my palms.
Sophie did not wake. Her soft, even breathing was the only sound in the dark house.
