She rushes over. Her hands find my shoulders, my face, touching every bit of me. “Oh, God, oh, God, there’s so much blood—”
Sage drags himself across the floor. When he reaches us, his hand closes around my ankle as silent reassurance. With his other hand, he pulls out his phone and calls 911. I listen as he speaks. He gives them our address, then the phone falls from his grip.
We all huddle together on the blood-soaked floor, broken and bleeding, waiting for sirens that feel like they’ll never come.
It’s my whole world falling to pieces around me. Well, almost my whole world. As the sirens grow closer, I think of the one person who isn’t here.
I don’t know where he is right now. The not-knowing is its own kind of torture. A wound that won’t stop crying blood.
But there’s another hea
