Alexander’s POVI sat in the plastic hospital chair, staring at the blood on my knuckles from where I’d hit the wall. The pain felt good. Clean. Better than the rage that was eating me alive from the inside.Mother sat beside me, her hands folded in her lap, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Father paced the small waiting room. None of us spoke. What was there to say?My sister was unconscious in an emergency room because the man she’d once loved had driven her to the breaking point. Again.The doctor appeared through the automatic doors, still wearing surgical scrubs. Dr. Katie McGrath, according to her badge. She looked tired but not devastated, which I took as a good sign.“Veyron family?”We all stood at once.“Regina is stable,” Dr. McGrath said immediately, and I felt my knees go weak with relief. “She has a concussion, several lacerations that required stitches, and bruised ribs from the airbag impact, but no internal injuries, no broken bones.”“Can we see her?” Mother
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