I lay propped up against the pillows, feeling the heavy, suffocating weight of my own immobility. My car accident on the I-95 had been “a tragedy,” according to the police report. A sudden loss of braking power on a curve. I remembered the pedal hitting the floor, the sickening lack of friction, and then the world spinning into glass and metal.

“Rest, my dear. You simply must rest,” Martha coos now, her voice dripping with a sweetness that made my teeth ache. She hovered over my bed, her manicured hands adjusting my blanket. She wasn’t making me comfortable; she was pinning me down.