Jeffrey stood and walked toward the door just as Joanne tried to sit up. The movement sent a dull throb through her skull, but she ignored it.
Outside, a murmur of voices swelled—a crowd waiting beyond the door.
First, the doctors. They bustled in, checking her vitals, adjusting her IV, and ensuring she was stable. One of them asked how she was feeling, but before she could answer, another was already scribbling notes onto a clipboard.
Next came the police.
They stepped inside with clipped professionalism, their expressions unreadable. Joanne's pulse quickened. She knew why they were here.
They wanted her statement.
Surviving the attack had been one thing. Reliving it was another.
Joanne sat stiffly, her hands curled into the blanket as the weight of it all settled over her. Her gaze flickered to Jeffrey. He was watching her, concern etched into every line of his face. She knew he wanted to stay. She knew he wanted to hear everything. But she couldn't let him.
Not this part.
