Out on the porch, the neighbors were peering through their curtains, and Mr. Henderson from across the street stood by his fence watching the chaos unfold. Jenkins keyed his radio to report a possible rib fracture and told me to keep my head down until the paramedics arrived.
When the EMTs rushed in with a gender, their leader asked for my name and age for the report. “Commander Callista Sterling,” I answered firmly, leaning into the title that I had worked so hard to earn during my years away from this town.
As they wheeled me past the fireplace, I looked at the photograph of my grandmother sitting in her favorite armchair. If she were alive, she would have boiled a pot of tea and forced everyone to speak the truth until the anger in the room finally simmered down.
My father caught my eye as they led him out the door, and for a split second, I saw the man who used to take me fishing. He mouthed something that looked like my name, but I turned my head away, unable to reconcile that memory with the man who just broke my ribs.
The ambulance ride was a blur of sterile smells and the steady beep of monitors while I gave the medic a scale of my pain. At Fairview General Hospital, the doctors confirmed I had two clean fractures but was lucky enough to avoid a punctured lung.
Night fell outside the hospital windows, and a nurse quietly adjusted my pillows while offering me a cup of water. I was still shaking when Officer Jenkins appeared in the doorway, his hat tucked under his arm as he waited for me to speak.
“I’m sorry you had to witness my family’s collapse,” I told him, feeling the weight of the night finally crashing down on me. He shook his head and told me he’d seen plenty of trouble, but he noted that my father looked absolutely terrified the moment he realized my rank.
