Chapter 13
The exam room light was too white and too bright. It hummed overhead and made everything look sharper than it should have. I sat on the paper-covered table in a hospital gown that didn't close right in the back, my wedding dress folded in a plastic bag on the chair beside me. My hair was still tangled from where he'd grabbed it. My bare feet were cold against the metal footrest.
Jenna stood near the door. She hadn't left since the parking lot. She'd driven me straight from the church annex after I told her I wanted it documented, and she kept her hand on the back of my chair when the intake nurse asked me what had happened.
The nurse who came in was in her forties, hair pulled back, a badge that said M. Alvarez, RN. She didn't rush.
"I'm going to ask some questions and then examine you, okay?" she said. "You can stop me anytime."
I nodded. My throat was dry.
She asked when it happened, where I was hurt, if I'd lost consciousness, if I had trouble seeing or feeling nauseous. I told her. Today. After photos. On the bedroom floor. He pushed my head down.
She put on gloves and parted my hair gently with her fingertips. I flinched before I could stop myself.
"Scalp tenderness here," she said quietly, not to me but into the little recorder clipped to her sleeve. "Left parietal area, about two inches behind the temple. No open wound. No bleeding. Small area of swelling."
She looked at me. "Does it hurt when I press?"
"Yes," I said. My voice was small.
"I'm going to take photos for your chart," she said. "Is that okay? Only for medical documentation. Nothing leaves your record without your permission."
I said yes.
She positioned a small ruler next to the spot and took three photos with a hospital tablet. The flash made me close my eyes. She photographed my hands, my knees where the rug had burned them, the red mark on the side of my neck that I hadn't seen until the bathroom mirror. She didn't comment. She just documented.
After she helped me sit back up, she pulled the rolling stool closer.
"I have to ask you this directly," she said. "Do you feel safe going home today?"
Jenna went still by the door.
I looked at the plastic bag with my dress in it. I thought about the house we'd rented for the wedding night, the suitcases by the bed, his shirt still hanging in the closet.
"No," I said. My hands tightened on the edge of the table. "I don't."
Alvarez nodded like I'd given her a normal answer. "Thank you for telling me honestly. I'm going to note that. We have a social worker who can talk with you about options. You don't have to decide anything right this second."
A knock cut her off. The door opened a few inches and the older woman from the bedroom stepped in.
She'd changed out of the burgundy lace dress into a navy cardigan and slacks, pearls still at her neck. Her lipstick was fresh. She looked like she'd come from the reception, not an emergency room.
"There you are," she said to me, her voice low and practiced, the same tone she'd used to calm the doorway that afternoon. She smiled at Alvarez. "I'm family. May I have a moment?"
Alvarez looked at me. I didn't nod.
"We're in the middle of an exam," Alvarez said evenly. "Are you here as a support person?"
"I'm his mother," she said. She turned to me. "Honey, I was so worried when you left. We need to talk before this goes any further."
Jenna stepped forward. "She's with medical staff right now."
The older woman ignored her. She pulled a folded packet from her leather purse.
"My attorney drew this up on the way over," she said to me, unfolding it on the empty chair. "It's just a standard privacy agreement. It protects both families from this video getting out and being misunderstood. You sign, we handle your medical bills, the wedding payments, everything. No one has to see that awful clip. No one has to be embarrassed."
My stomach dropped. The paper had my name typed at the top.
"It's not about covering anything up," she added softly. "It's about giving you both space to deal with this privately. As a family."
Alvarez stood up. "Ma'am, I need you to step outside while we finish."
"She's twenty-four," the older woman said, not looking at Alvarez. "She's not thinking clearly. I just need her phone. Just until we sort this out. Honey, give me the phone and we can delete that video together. It shouldn't exist."
The phone was in Jenna's coat pocket. I'd given it to her when we came in. I could feel both of them looking at me.
I shook my head. "No."
The older woman's smile tightened. "Think about what you're doing. Once this is in a file, it doesn't come out."
"I said no," I said. Louder this time. My scalp throbbed where Alvarez had pressed. "I'm not signing that. I'm not giving you my phone."
Alvarez moved between us and opened the door. "Ma'am, you need to wait in the waiting room or I will call security."
The older woman stared at me for one more second, then folded the paper back up. She slipped it into her purse and left without another word. The door clicked.
Alvarez let out a breath and turned back to me. She finished typing.
"Chart complete," she said, showing me the screen for my signature. Photographs uploaded. Injury map noted. Patient states assault by spouse on wedding day, scalp trauma, does not feel safe at home. Declined outside interference. The words were plain and official.
May you like
I signed with the stylus. My hand shook.
Jenna came to the side of the table and took my hand, and for the first time since I hit the rug, I felt like what had happened was somewhere outside my body, somewhere it couldn't be talked away.
