My mother’s face is swollen, bruised, and scraped up, almost beyond recognition. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. Her left arm is in a cast and her body, concealed by covers and sheets, looks thinner and more fragile than I remember. I scan the clipboard of notes quickly, able to determine that most of her injuries are minor; the broken arm and concussion seem to be most of the worst. She moves as she awakens and clasps Sophie’s hand, an attempt at a smile on her face. She hasn’t seen me yet and I hold back.
“Emma is here.” Sophie breathes softly and looks toward me with a smile. Her blue eyes cloudy with the strain of trying not to cry. It tugs at my heart as my mother’s face follows, breaking into a wuthering smile when she sees me.
“Emma! My little girl.” She releases Sophie’s han
