Finnegan
The house felt too quiet. I paced around the living room like a caged animal, hands clenched into fists at my sides. The doctors were still upstairs with Abigail.
I had us moved to one of my homes because I didn't want her discomfort around hospitals slowing her recovery.
She was getting much better, but that did nothing to kill the worry festering in my chest. It had been a week since the accident and I was barely over the fact that my mother had tried to wipe out me, Abigail, and Angel in one stroke.
The driver who had been caught hadn't confessed to anything, but it was plain as day that it was her. For one thing, she never called to check in.
The accident had been all over the news. What mother hears that her son and granddaughter were in a crash and does absolutely nothing? A guilty one. That was who.
There was a doctor checking on Angel too. Her injuries had been minor, but I was not taking chances with her.
