Sophia’s P.O.V

I sat there on the edge of the couch, my arm wrapped tightly in fresh bandages, watching as Vee hissed under her breath while a nurse fastened hers. My mother kept murmuring, “I’m fine, I’m fine,” even though she clearly wasn’t, her face pale and her hands trembling.

“You’re not fine,” I told her, grabbing her hand. “Mom, he could’ve killed you.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “I’m alive, Sophia. That’s what matters.” But it ...