Page 19 of Shattered

“Yesterday morning. Definitely yesterday morning.” She said it with the kind of certainty that only confirmed she was lying.

“Where is it?”

“I’m fine?—”

“Delia.”

She pointed toward the bathroom with clear reluctance. I found the prescription bottle, shook out two pills, brought them back with water.

She took them without arguing, which told me exactly how much pain she was in.

“Daniel said you were dancing when it happened,” I said.

“I needed to move. Sitting here thinking was making me insane.”

“So you danced until your ankle broke.”

“Fractured. It’s different apparently.” She set the water down. “And yes. I’m aware it was stupid. You don’t have to look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a disaster you’re trying to quietly fix.”

“Again, I’m not trying to fix you.”

“Everyone’s trying to fix me. Daniel with his check-ins. Sarah with her interventions. Now you with your pastries and coffee and your very obvious pity.”

“It’s not pity.”

“Then what is it?”

Care. Maybe even love.

But I didn’t have the courage to say any of that. So I said nothing, and Delia laughed that bitter laugh again.

“That’s what I thought.”

We sat in silence until her medication started working. I could see her relax slightly, the tight lines around her mouth easing.

When I finally left an hour later, Delia was already drowsy from the medication and dozing off.

I called Daniel from my car.

“How is she?” he asked immediately.

“Not fine. Barely surviving. Someone needs to be there consistently.”

“Can you—” He stopped. “Would you be willing to check on her? Regularly?” He paused for a while before continuing, “No, sorry, I wouldn’t ask that of you. You’re busy, I know?—”

“I’ll do it,” I said before my brain could list all the reasons it was a terrible idea.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, man. I don’t know what I’d do—” he started.

“It’s fine. I’ll just make sure she’s okay.”