"That's not necessarily the best-case scenario. It might happen sooner."
"But he was defending me—" My voice cracks, rising with desperation. "Mark, Julian was defending me. Daniel attacked me first. He had his hands on me, he was hurting me. Julian saw it happen and he stepped in. That has to count for something,doesn't it? Self-defense, or... or defense of another person, isn't that a thing?"
"I know. The lawyer knows. But Daniel's condition changed things."
My stomach drops.
"What do you mean, his condition?"
Mark exhales. Long and heavy.
"He's in the ICU right now," Mark says, and I can hear him choosing his words carefully, like he's walking through a minefield. "Daniel sustained a spinal injury from the fall. It's serious, Liza. The doctors—they've made the decision to put him in a medically induced coma while they assess the damage and try to reduce the swelling around his spine."
The words don't land. Not at first.
"Spinal injury?"
"Yeah. Serious. A really serious spinal injury," Mark confirms, his voice tight with tension. "The doctors—they told his family that even if he does wake up from the coma, there's a very real possibility that he'll be paralyzed. From the neck down, Liza. They're saying he might never walk again. Might never move anything below his shoulders."
The phone slips from my hand. I hear Mark's voice, tinny and distant, calling my name.
Paralyzed.
From the neck down.
I try to imagine what Daniel's life would actually look like if that prognosis becomes reality—if he really does wake up and can't move anything below his neck. Trapped inside his own body. Unable to do the simplest things for himself. Dependent on nurses, machines, other people for everything. Eating, bathing, breathing, maybe. The man who controlled every aspect of my life, who grabbed me and hurt me and wouldn't let me go, now unable to control even his own limbs.
Because of Julian.
Because of me.
I scramble off the couch, my bare feet slapping hard against the cold hardwood floor. Each step feels heavy, like I'm wading through water, my body moving on pure instinct while my mind struggles to process what Mark just said.
The kitchen seems impossibly far away, the distance between the living room and the sink stretching out like it's miles instead of feet, but somehow I make it. I lunge forward just in time, gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles as my stomach rebels violently.
Everything comes up—the stale coffee I drank yesterday, bitter and acidic, then bile, burning and sour. Then nothing. Just horrible, painful dry heaves that wrack my entire body, making my ribs ache and my throat burn with each convulsion.
I heave until there's nothing left.
My legs give out and I sink to the floor, cheek pressed against the cool cabinet door. The phone's still on the couch. Mark's probably still waiting.
I can't move. Can't think.
Daniel might never walk again.
Julian's in jail.
And I'm the reason both their lives are destroyed.
I close my eyes and see it all over again. Julian's fist connecting. Daniel falling. The sickening crack of skull against concrete.
I wanted Daniel gone. Out of my life. But not like this.
Never like this.
A sob tears out of me, raw and animal-like. I curl into myself on the kitchen floor, arms wrapped around my knees, and let it come.
The floor is cold against my cheek, grounding me just enough to realize I've left Mark hanging. I push myself up, wipe my facewith the back of my hand, and stagger back to the couch. The phone's screen is cracked, but it lights up when I pick it up again. Mark's gone.
