Mother

Damian’s eyes fluttered open to a blinding white light. His head pounded, and his shoulder ached with a dull, throbbing pain. As his vision cleared, he found himself in an unfamiliar room - sterile and clinical; the kind found in a hospital.

“Welcome back, Mr. Blackwood.” A woman in a pristine white coat stepped into his line of sight, her expression neutral. “I’m Dr. Novak, the attending physician. How are you feeling?”

Damian tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness swept over him. “What happened? Where am I?”

Dr. Novak approached the bed, her movements measured. “You were involved in an accident, Mr. Blackwood. You sustained a gunshot wound to your shoulder. We’ve treated the injury, but you’ve been unconscious for the past three days.”

Accident? Gunshot wound? Damian’s mind raced, but the details remained elusive, like trying to grasp at wisps of smoke. “I don’t... I don’t remember.”

“That’s not unexpected,” Dr. Novak said. “The trauma to your head caused some temporary memory los