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…

The trauma bay smelled like latex and disinfectant. Bright lights burned down from the ceiling. People surrounded me, hands working, voices clipped and efficient.

“Cut the shirt.”

“Pupils equal.”

“GCS twelve.”

“Obvious scalp hematoma.”

I tried to focus on the ceiling tiles, but my eyes kept slipping.

Then a voice cut through the noise, and something inside continue reading …