The Price Of Her Mercy
“Are you okay?”
I sit up, trying to piece myself together. “I… I think so,” I murmur. My throat is dry, my muscles stiff, but the doctor’s words echo in my head: the amnesia is temporary. My brain is just catching up after the trauma.
Dad ruffles my hair, which still feels a little odd with the weight of the hospital pillow, and says, “You just need to remember your name, your age, where you go to school, your home, and the names of your parents. That’s it.”
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