I am floating. I don’t feel as if I have a body anymore. I am only a spirit, hovering above the earth a little ways. I can’t feel a single thing--not my hands or feet or inner organs. Even my head feels lighter than air. My memory is hazy, and all I can recall is that something awful has happened. For a few moments, I try to remember if there’s a chance I am actually dead, and I feel like I am hovering above the ground because I am doing just that. Slowly, the memories come back to me. Just as they sink into my mind, reminding me about the window, about the pain and the blood, about the horror of seeing Jeff lying there, not on top of the car but partially through the roof of the vehicle, the feeling of my body begins to sink in as well. I can feel my eyelashes fluttering on my cheeks as I attempt to open my eyes. I can feel my hand resting on something soft. A bed, I think. My legs are stiff. My other hand… I can’t feel it at all. It’s as if I only have one now. Remembering what hap

I’m fine. I feel fine, anyway. My hand is still wrapped in gauze, and I’m told I may need more surgery down the road. I will definitely need physical therapy, but that’s okay. Braxton says he’ll pay for the person to come to the house so I don’t have to go to a clinic for my treatments. He’s even volunteered to find a therapist who will move into the house so I can have it every day. It amazes me how different it is to have a plethora of money at one’s disposal, but I will have to get used to it because, as the wheelchair takes me to the waiting car, I know I will be with Braxton forever now.I get out of the wheelchair, which I’m only sitting in because the hospital staff insists it’s part of their dismissal policy, and Braxton helps me into the car. It’s been three days since I was rushed to the hospital, and I am anxious to get out. I am anxious to go home--back to the place where Braxton and I fell in love.Once I am in, Braxton closes the door behind me and slides in on the other