From the moment Luke came in, I knew something was wrong. He had that look—the one that says, ‘I’ve been to hell and back, and I’m not sure if I’m still alive.’ I thought it might be work. A failed deal, some corporate drama, anything but this.
“What kind of accident, Luke?” I say. I feel like I know the answer already, but I’m praying to whatever high power’s out there that it’s not what I think it is.
He closes his eyes for a moment. When he finally speaks, his words are almost inaudible.
“Sara’s in the hospital.”
Sara. His ex-wife.
“What?” I say, my hands clutching the arms of the chair. “Oh my God, Luke. Is she—? What happened? Is she okay?”
The real question I want to ask is, ‘What have you done, Luke?’ But I can’t find the courage to ask. And also, maybe I’m giving him the ben
