Page 82 of After Everything
David stood in the hallway with a woman in her early thirties. She was small, maybe five-two, with dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her right eye wasswollen, bruising already dark purple and spreading down her cheek. She held her left arm carefully against her ribs, the kind of protective posture that screamed pain with every breath.
But it was David I saw first.
Two weeks shouldn't have made a difference. He looked the same—tired, rumpled suit, hair that needed a cut. But something in his face when he saw me made my breath catch. Relief, maybe. Or something else I couldn't name.
"Emma." He caught himself. "Ms. Peterson. This is Angela Torres."
I shifted my focus to the woman, to where it should have been all along.
"Angela. I'm Emma Peterson, the nurse practitioner who'll be doing your exam tonight." I kept my voice gentle, professional. "Come on in. Let's get you taken care of."
She nodded, wincing at the movement.
David moved to follow her into the room, and I put a hand up.
"Mr. Harrison. You'll need to wait in thehall during the exam. I'll call you when we're finished."
"I told her I'd stay?—"
"And I'm telling you that you can't." My voice was firm but not unkind. "Medical privacy. No one else in the room during the examination unless the patient specifically requests it."
I looked at Angela. "Would you like him to stay?"
She glanced at David, then back at me. Shook her head slightly. "No. It's okay. I'll be okay."
"I'll be right outside," David said to her. Then, to me, quieter: "If you need anything?—"
"I know where to find you."
Our eyes met for just a second. Something passed between us—acknowledgment, maybe, of the strangeness of this situation. Of standing in this hallway, professional and distant, when two weeks ago we'd sat in a coffee shop and I'd told him I didn't know what we were anymore.
I still didn't know.
But I knew I had a patient who neededme more than I needed to figure out whatever this was.
I stepped back and let Angela into the exam room, closing the door firmly behind us.
The exam took forty minutes.
I documented everything: the swelling around her eye, the bruising on her arms in the distinctive pattern of finger marks, the deep purple spreading across her ribs where she'd hit the stairs. Three cracked ribs, likely. Definitely soft tissue damage. Every injury photographed, measured, recorded with clinical precision.
Angela was quiet through most of it, answering my questions in a voice that kept threatening to break but never quite did. Yes, he'd pushed her. No, this wasn't the first time. Yes, she'd tried to leave before. No, she didn't have anywhere safe to go.
The same story I'd heard dozens of times. It never got easier.
"You're very thorough," Angela said as I helped her back into her shirt. She moved carefully, every breath shallow to avoid aggravating her ribs.
"I want to make sure the judge has everything they need to keep you safe."
"Mr. Harrison said you were the best." She paused, then added quietly, "He talked about you. The cases you've worked together. He says you save lives."
My hands stilled on the paperwork. "He said that?"
"He respects you a lot. I can tell." Angela managed a small, pained smile. "The way he looks when he mentions your name. Like you're someone important."
I didn't know what to do with that information, so I just nodded and finished my notes.
"Okay," I said, setting down my pen. "I'm going to go type up the official report. It'll take me about an hour. You can rest here if you'd like, or Mr. Harrison can sit with you in the waiting room."
