Adeline
Asher and Hazel returned to the room with a loud pop about an hour after they first left. Asher looked slightly angered and irritated, but Hazel had a look of devastation on her face. I ran to her and wrapped her in my arms. Her knees buckled and little hiccupping sobs escaped her lips. I looked up at Asher.
“What happened?” I asked.
“When she wants to tell you, she will.” Was all that Asher said as he grabbed the suitcases and nodded to the guys to follow him out to the waiting car. Hazel clung onto me like I would drift away if she let go. I felt helpless. Usually when a patient came in with this much trauma I knew what to do. Fill out GAD and PHQ9 forms, assess their level of anxiety and depression and treat with therapy and medications. This was harder. Much harder.
“What
