Cloe POV
I wheeled the chair too close to the sink and hit the end of my stumps on the sink counter. It hurt, like really hurt, causing my eyes to water. That hurt. I managed to brush my teeth and change my top, but the bottom hurt too much to pull it over the ends of my legs. I hate my legs, or what's left of them; they remind me of my father and sister, one for each leg, that they are gone because of them. I don't blame the truck driver, even though he was on his phone and didn't notice what he did. It was my Dad forcing me to stay in the back of the truck; anywhere else, like the cab, I would have been fine, but he insisted I be in the back, clean it, and not leave the back till he returned. So my loss was all on him.
I tried not to cry, as the end of my legs throbbed with pain, which
