Coma, Betrayal, and Broken Hearts

ical therapy was hell. My muscles, dormant for a decade, screamed with every

seen," he said one afternoon, as I stood on my o

o give up, I saw Lily' s tired face. I saw her standing on that street co

't afford. She never talked about her work, and I didn't ask. We talked a

cover my "immediate medical expenses." It was a cold, transactional gesture that felt m

ted to keep me for observation, but I couldn't wait any longer. I knew where Lily said she

bus, the city flashing by my window, a landscape of unfamiliar buildings and faces. I go

illed with sketchpads, her eyes shining with dreams. She was going to be a great artist. I had promised her a studi

. Students came and went, laughing, carrying their portfolios. No Lily

I hea

something crashing, coming from a side st

uckles white, and started moving toward the sound. A s

o a tight, cold knot. I saw a table overturned, charcoal ske

n figure in a worn-out hoodie. I couldn't see her face clearly

my da

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