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But then I heard words not meant for me, and my heart screeched to a stop.
“I’ll amputate below the knee. The joint doesn’t look compromised. At least with the joint intact, he’ll find it easier to adapt with a prosthetic.”
What?
No.
No.
Fuck.
NO!
“Do what you must. Save my son.”
Wait.
Don’t.
Don’t cut—
I screamed.
Sleep pounced.
I passed out.
Chapter Forty-Two
*
Aslan
*
(Heart in Lithuanian: Širdis)
*
Six months...
“HOW DOES THAT FEEL?” THE YOUNG doctor with black hair, brown eyes, and empathetic smile asked. Our fourth session together and he damn well knew how it felt.
Foreign.
Wrong.
Not a part of me.
“It’s fine,” I muttered, refusing to look at my leg.
At the stump below my knee.
I didn’t care it’d been four months since I’d gone to sleep screaming and woken up screaming. The first thing I’d done as the anaesthetic wore off was jack-knife up and grab at my left calf...only...there had been no calf.
No foot.
No shin or ankle or toes.
