Then the world vanished again.
When I woke at St.
Agnes Hospital, machines surrounded my bed.
A nurse told me that a night custodian named Samir Haddad had found me behind the shopping center.
My body temperature had fallen dangerously low.
I had a concussion, three cracked ribs, and severe bruising.
“You were fortunate,” she said softly.
I stared at the ceiling.
Fortunate.
My own family had left me outside to die.
Four days later, Detective Cole Voss arrived carrying a notebook.
“Tessa, your parents and sister have already spoken to the police.”
I knew what was coming before he said it.
“They claim you became violent during a psychiatric episode.
Your mother says you attacked her.
Your father and sister support her statement.”
I closed my eyes.
“They’ve also requested an emergency psychiatric evaluation,” he continued.
“They’re insisting you’re a danger to yourself.”
“They’re lying.”
“I haven’t concluded otherwise.”
