Page 8 of The Pucking Wrong Man

But it was a useless effort, because there were a million more tears that came after that.

Another knock sounded on the door, this one soft and non-threatening.

“Come in,” I called in a hoarse voice, rubbing at my face frantically just in case it was the caseworker...or Michael. I didn’t want either of them to see me cry.

But it wasn’t them. Thankfully. Instead, a kind-looking woman with a neat bun and a white coat, slowly opened the door and popped her head in. Unlike with the caseworker, the doctor’s concerned look seemed genuine. I wasn’t sure how I could even know that—it was probably wishful thinking. But the soft smile she was giving me still somehow made me feel calmer.

“Hello, Anastasia,” she greeted me softly. “May I sit?”

I blinked at her question, and then nodded numbly, watching as she pulled a chair up to my hospital bed.

“I’m Dr. Patel. I’m in charge of the team helping you while you’re with us.”

I returned her smile weakly, feeling a sense of relief wash over me at her calming presence. “Hi, Dr. Patel,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

She settled into the chair beside me, her expression gentle. “May I?” she asked again, nodding her head at the IV in my arm. I liked that she kept asking my permission, even if it was just a formality.

I nodded, and she carefully checked where it was protruding from my arm before sitting back in her chair.

“I’m afraid you suffered a concussion from the...incident,” she said, her words careful. “You also have a bruised spleen, which is why you’re feeling so sore.”

I nodded like I understood what all that meant. There was only one real injury I was concerned about, though. “And my leg?” I asked, my voice trembling as I stared at the cast.

“Your leg,” she began, her voice softening even further, “it’s broken in two places. You had two surgeries while you were out—” My head jerked up at that news. She held up a hand like that would calm me down. “We had to set the bones back in place. They had broken through the skin, and it was an emergency situation.”

I was feeling lightheaded at that news. I remembered the snap and the sharp pain...and then the numbness that had spread through my limbs.

“The good news,” Dr. Patel continued, “is that you shouldn’t need to have any more surgeries unless the hardware gives you trouble.”

I nodded slowly, my mind reeling as I tried to process everything she was telling me. A concussion, a bruised spleen, a broken leg. That was—a lot.

“Dr. Patel, how long do you think it will take for my leg to heal?” I asked. “When can I get back to my dance classes?”

Her brow furrowed slightly, and she hesitated before answering, her expression somber. “Well, Anastasia, injuries like yours are quite serious,” she began carefully. “Usually, people with these kinds of injuries are lucky if all that’s left when it heals is a limp.”

My heart dropped, and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

“I can’t dance anymore?” My voice was high-pitched and squeaky, and the lightheadedness was getting worse. This wasn’t happening. I was going to wake up and this was all going to be nothing but a bad dream. I had to dance. I had to. I was either dreaming or she was lying.

I wanted to scream or cry or rage because I would be alright with anything else being taken away from me.

Anything but losing the ability to dance.

I was faintly aware of Dr. Patel’s hand on my arm. “Anastasia, usually doesn’t mean always,” she said gently, her voice infused with reassurance. “And things could be different for you, if you follow directions, and work hard at physical therapy and anything else we ask you to do.” She paused. “You also have youth on your side. Things could end up better than if this injury had happened later on.”

I nodded, her words giving me a spark of hope that I was going to hold on to for dear life.

I would do whatever she said. I was going to dance again.

The door opened then, and Michael popped his head in, not bothering to knock. I tensed up.

“Can I help you, young man?” Dr. Patel asked.

“Just checking on Anastasia. My family will be taking care of her,” he said, his face the epitome of concern.

Dr. Patel clapped her hands together. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I’m so glad she’s going to have a support system.”

That numbness, the one I’d experienced as I lay on the floor of my room, it was spreading through me again.

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