“I’ve already made up my mind,” I said flatly, refusing to engage any further.
Just then, the doctor called my name for an X-ray. Margot reached out to steady me, as though she planned to come along. But before we could take another step, her phone rang.
Steven’s name lit up the screen. She answered immediately, her voice soft and syrupy. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“Babe, I think I’ve got a fever,” Steven whined on the other end. “Can you come see me?”
Margot glanced at me for half a second before pulling her hand away.
“Of course, honey,” she cooed into the phone. “Be good and wait for me. I’ll be right there.”
She didn’t even hesitate. She just turned on her heel and left, her heels clicking against the floor as she walked away.
This time, I didn’t call out to stop her. I just watched her figure grow smaller and smaller, disappearing down the hall.
Strangely, all I felt was an eerie calm.
...
Later, the doctor told me what I already suspected: my left hand’s fracture was severe. It would take months of therapy and rest before I’d even be able to play again. If ever.