Page 74 of Wicked Truths
My heart races as she speaks, her voice trembling slightly. “When will she get her memory back?”
The doctor’s expression turns serious. “It depends on how much she’s been affected. She was unconscious for five days. Only time will tell if it’s short or long-term.”
“So, my daughter won’t remember any of us?” Her worry feels like a weight pressing down on me.
My daughter?
“That depends. We won’t know if she has forgotten her memories, if she can even retain new memories, or both.”
The woman I now know is my mother sucks back a sob. “When will you know?”
“We conducted tests because of her prior response to her sister,” he continues. “But you have to remember she has some swelling on her brain, and once this goes down, her memory may return. Only when the injuries begin to heal will we know.”
I have a sister?The realization strikes me like lightning.
“Oh baby,” the woman says again, moving closer as I look at her through narrowed eyes.
Another figure rushes into the room—she’s pretty, with rose pink hair that bounces as she approaches. She grabs my hand tightly and whispers urgently, “Who did this to you?”
A wave of recognition washes over me as I try to focus on her face, but it slips away just as quickly. My mind is a fog, but her presence is oddly comforting.
“We’ll find out,” that man—I think he was called Dom—says, his voice familiar yet distant.
“She was running out of the club to avoid the police and was run over,” Dom explains while I squirm under the weight of their conversations, trying to piece together fragments of what happened.
“What the hell was she doing in there, anyway?” My mother sounds furious now.
I groan.
“Amara!” Mom says as she comes to my side. “How are you? I’m your mom and Milly is here, too.”
She points toward the girl who is clenching my hand. “As soon as you’re better, I’ll take you home.”
“She is coming home with me,” Dom states firmly. “Milly will be there to help her, too.”
Mom’s voice rises. “The hell she is! She’s in this hospital bed because I wasn’t there to keep an eye on her.”
“She is eighteen years old, Helena. Not twelve.”
“Don’t listen to them,” Milly interjects softly, looking right at me with concern etched on her face.
I close my eyes again, trying desperately to connect these threads of voices and names swirling around me, but find myself lost, swimming in confusion and pain.
My eyes flicker open, but the bright light above me makes everything blurry. I squint, trying to make sense of the faces around me.
The man, who is wearing a white coat and a serious expression, leans in closer. “Amara,” he says gently, “I need to ask you some questions.”
I nod.
“As her doctor, it would be better if I could speak to her alone.”
I glance past him, seeing a man whose face is taut, his piercing blue eyes never leaving mine. He looks tense, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.
“I’m staying with Amara,” he states firmly.
“Something to hide?” My mother snaps back, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“I’m her father!” Dom yells. His voice echoes in the small room. “And someone might have deliberately tried to kill her. I’m not leaving.”
