Spencer half laid half sat in the hospital bed because what else could she do really. Her arm was fractured in three places and the heavy cast made it hard to move. Bandages wrapped around her rips where she had to have surgery after her lung collapsed. Breathing was a bitch, pain would ripple out from her chest up her throat and into her stomach but she’d managed with small swallow breaths.

She had no clue how long she’d been in the hospital, at least two weeks by now and her husband had yet to show up which made her heart fell lighter although she knew that it was wrong to be happy about it which made the guilt surge into her brain, He’s your damn husband and your glad he isn’t here…he was right you are worthless and a coward. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts as one lone tear fell down her cheek; she wished some one would come talk to her. She had been alone except the few nurses and doctors coming in to check up on her condition which was getting better day by day.

“Spencer,” turning she saw her main doctor walk in.

“Hey Dr. Manson,” she tried to smile but really it was a weak attempt as she had nothing to smile about these days.

Dr. Manson stood at the end of the bed checking the chart which hadn’t changed in the three days she’d taken a small vacation, “How are you doing?”

“Um not to bad, my chest is hurting.”

“Let me see,” Dr. Manson set the chart down and came to the side of Spencer’s bed, rolling the sheet down she saw the blood seeping on to the cotton wrapping, “Seems you may have undid the stitches again.” The doctor sighed it was the fourth time Spencer had ripped the stitches.

“Sorry,” the blond woman glanced down unable to stare at the disappointed face, she hadn’t meant to rip the stitches at all, a few coughing fits and nightmares had made it happen.

“Look Spencer I’m going to have a nurse take you back in to stitch you up than after you wake up you need to talk to our resident psychiatrist.”