My Sister Threw Me Down The Stairs Over Our Father’s Inheritance. “Dad’s Money Is For My Wedding!” She Screamed Behind Me. Then I Felt Both Hands Slam Into My Back, And Suddenly…

rhythm, like the machine was trying to reassure itself that I was still here.

“Name?” someone asked.

My mouth was dry. My tongue felt too heavy. “Morrison,” I whispered.

“First name?”

I forced it out. “Elaine.”

In the front, the radio crackled. “Trauma activation. Female, late thirties. Fall down concrete stairs with suspected assault. Head laceration, continue reading …