Instead of going to the hospital, we called a doctor to check the cut. He showed up with a bag full of supplies, barely said a word, and got to work. A few stitches, some disinfectant, and a warning not to pick at it later. Quick and easy. He packed up his things and left like he had a dozen other places to be, and maybe he did.
Either way, I was grateful. The last thing I wanted was to sit in a hospital for hours, surrounded by fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic.
Mom watches me from across the room, her expression soft. "We wanted to take you out tonight," she says after a beat. "Maybe tomorrow instead?"
I nod, exhaustion pressing down on me like a weight. "Yes, please. I need sleep."
She smiles, that warm, knowing mom-smile. "Okay, honey. I'll let your siblings know."
I
