Abyss.
I nodded, throat tight, and left them alone.
Afternoon brought Dr. Carlos Marquez. I’d called him the second Isabelle woke up still distant. He arrived with his calm, steady presence, mid-50s, glasses, notepad, the same doctor who’d guided Isabelle through the worst of the concussion months ago.
We sat in the living room. Isabelle on the sofa, me beside her, hand on her knee. Dr. Marquez across from us.
“Isabelle,” He started gently, “Gio told me you had a breakthrough last night. Can you walk me through what you saw?”