A doctor came in, explained the fracture, the plates, the recovery. Sarah listened like someone hearing her own life summarized in medical terms.
Then the doctor asked, “Do you have a safe place to go when discharged?”
Sarah’s eyes went blank.
That question is a trap for people living on the edge. It sounds simple. It isn’t.
Sarah’s voice broke. “I… I don’t know.”
Meera looked at her, panic rising again. “We can go home, right?”
Sarah didn’t answer. Because home was a crime scene. Because home was where fear lived in the walls.
I felt the room tilt.
I pulled a chair closer and sat, grounding the moment.
“You’re not going back there,” I said calmly. “Not right away.”
Sarah’s eyes flicked to me. “I don’t have money for—”
“We’ll handle the first part,” I said. “Then you’ll handle the rest. One step at a time.”
Morrison appeared in the doorway like he’d been listening.
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