"She sustained head trauma from the impact."
Derek stood beside Ishita's bed with his arms folded and his eyes on her face, listening to the doctor without looking at him.
"A concussion," the doctor continued. "There is some swelling, but we have it under control. We don't know when she will regain consciousness; we just need to monitor her carefully."
Derek's hands curled into fists at his sides, and he nodded once. Ishita lay so small and still against the pillows, her face bruised and pale, tubes snaking across her skin.
This woman had served his family for years. She had fed him with her own hands, worried over him like a mother. And now she was fighting for her life because she had tried to tell him something.
His mind kept circling back to that night in the kitchen; Ishita standing by the counter with that uncertain expression that he didn't quite clock that night. The way she had stepped closer and dropped her voice, almost as if she was scared of something.
