Chapter 2 - Hannah’s hospital room
Twelve hours earlier, I had been asleep.
My phone rang at 1:18 a.m.
Unknown number.
A nurse.
“Mr. Miller?”
“Yes.”
“Your daughter asked us to contact you.”
I was dressed in under two minutes.
At the hospital, Hannah sat upright with one arm in a sling.
Bruising around her shoulder.
Swollen lip.
Two cracked ribs.
A mild concussion.
No internal bleeding.
No spinal injury.
No life-threatening trauma.
I am precise about that because anger exaggerates things.
The facts were bad enough.
I sat beside her.
“Who?”
She looked down.
“Dustin.”
I had suspected.
I hated that I had suspected.
“What happened?”
“We argued.”
“That doesn’t explain this.”
“No.”
Then tears.
“He found out I copied the records.”
“What records?”
She looked toward the closed hospital door.
May you like
“Dad, he’s been using your name.”
That was the first time I understood this had started before the assault.
