I awoke in the emergency room, cold and alone. For a few moments, I simply lay there, too confused over what had just happened. My right arm was wrapped in thick bandages. It felt heavy and though I tried to move it, it felt like a log had been attached to my shoulder and no matter how hard I tried, it wouldn't even budge. The effort brought tears to my eyes, and when I tried to wipe them away with my other hand, tubes made it almost impossible.

Did I really think that I could make Serena's life better? That in an act of compassion, even though it had been done in the midst of a panic, could turn against me in a blink of an eye?

Machines stood on either side of me, blinking, beeping, and humming like a reminder of another good decision gone bad. Helping Rosie get over a boy had cost me a year of my freedom. Thinking I could somehow help raise money for some foster care program had led me to love a man like David. And now this - not wanting Serena to end her life all because a boy chose me over her had brought me here.

Suddenly my arm was throbbing. The pain rose, shot up my arm and through my neck and I gasped. Something beeped behind me, to my left, and the curtains that shielded me from the rest of the world parted as a nurse came in, smiling faintly at me before turning her attention to the equipment that told her what she needed to know. She injected something into one of the tubes attached to me and a few minutes later, I drifted to sleep, the pain in my arm fading into nothing but a lightness that made me think for just one moment that I dreamt it all. Maybe I was still in my bed, just waking up to find Erik's note with the foil hearts tumbling over me.

When the doctor finally arrived, I recognized him immediately. Earl Cross was the same doctor who'd treated me when I ended up at the Emergency Room a year and a half earlier when, according to David, I had fallen in the front garden and broken my hand.

He recognized me as he glanced at the medical chart and said something about my low blood pressure, blood loss in the bathroom where they'd found me, and then some exploratory surgery that was scheduled to be done as soon as the hand surgeon arrived. He said that he would have cleaned up the wound and closed it himself, and that I'd have to wait a few weeks for actual surgery to be done to reattach the tendons, but my husband had insisted on having it done as soon as possible.

"My husband?" I mumbled. "My husband is here? Why? Who called him?"

"The front office probably found his name on your old file, when you were last here - what, a year or so ago? They brought you in with just your driver's license in your pocket, I think."

"But why? We're-"

"Sam, take it easy. He's talking to the police right now, but he should be back soon," he said. "We're just waiting for Doctor Samuels from UCLA, and I have to tell you, you're one lucky girl to get him on such short notice. He's one of the best in the country."

"Why is he talking to the police?" I asked, wondering why they'd called David. But then, who would they have called? If they were using my old chart from the last time I was here a year and a half ago, of course, they'd still have David's name on file. "He's talking to the police? Wait, am I in trouble?"

He looked at me quizzically, placing a hand on top of my injured arm to make sure I wouldn't jostle it. "I don't think so. Though thank goodness for modern technology; it 's your attacker's word against three others, one who happens to be a cop."

I drifted in and out during the next half hour. My whole right arm felt numb as if I'd just been to the dentist and he ended up injecting my arm with Novocain instead of numbing my gums. I tried to move my fingers, but the bandages prevented me from doing so.

I must have fallen asleep for I dreamt that someone pulled open the curtains. Warm lips touched my forehead. A hand smoothed down my hair. A voice whispered, I'm so sorry, Sam.

Erik.

A cell phone rang, and I heard him answer it in a soft voice, his hand still holding my good hand.

"You've got a lot of explaining to do, Liv," he said, his voice low and restrained. His hand left my arm, and his voice faded, but he was still in the room with me. This was not a dream, I thought. Still, my eyes remained closed, my lids heavy.

"What the hell was Sam doing at my house? I hope to God you didn't send her there, Liv, or there'll be hell to pay," he said, exhaling. "No, there was no reason calling the police then because I didn't know Rena was in my house sitting in my own damn tub just waiting for me to get there. She called me and said she needed to talk to me, and that was it. She was going to meet me at my house. I had no idea she knew where I kept the spare key or that she'd be hurting Sam."

His voice drifted near and then far as if he were pacing the space next to me though he kept his voice low.

"Serena's on a ten-day psych hold. I made sure of it," he continued. "Sam's at Torrance Memorial, and we're waiting for Doctor Samuels. Right now she's stable, bruised ribs - nothing broken, thank God. But it's the lacerations on her arm and palm that worries me. They were able to stop the blood loss, and Samuels promised that he'd do everything he can."

He sighed again. "Rena claimed that Sam came after her, that Sam cut her before trying to kill herself. But that was before I got there. When the police were taking her away, Rena was saying that she only did it in self-defense, that Sam was trying to hurt her. I can't believe it, Liv. I just can't. I mean, this isn't happening - it can't be happening. What am I going to do?"

He paused, as if listening to Liv, before speaking again. "I am filing charges. Breaking and entering, anything - just to make sure she pays for this. What if Sam can't paint anymore? What am I supposed to tell her? And you know I was going to ask her-"

The curtains moved and strong cologne wafted over towards me. David.

"Thanks to you, she can never pain again," David said. "What the hell was she doing in your house, with your crazy ex-girlfriend?"

"Liv, I'll talk you later," Erik said. "Probably best to keep your voice down unless you want the hospital to kick us both out."

"What the hell happened? What did you do to my Sam?"

"Your Sam?" Erik asked, chuckling.

"What's so damn funny?" David hissed, and I could sense his voice growing louder as if he'd come closer to the bed. "Her hand's in...Her hand's in bandages. She paints with that arm!"

It was the first time in a very long time since I detected the hint of fear in David's voice. It sent chills shooting through me, his opinion as my former art manager somehow weighing still in my subconscious. If David thought it was bad, then it must be bad.

"She tried to stop someone from hurting herself," Erik replied calmly.

"Why would she do something as stupid as that? And where were you? Did you just stand back and watch the show? You're the one who's responsible then, for all this...all the lost revenue from any potential artwork-"

"If you honestly believe that I actually am buying your concerned ex-husband act, think again," Erik said, an edge present in his voice. .

"I should sue you for damages," David said. "That's what I should do-"

"Then go ahead and sue me," Erik said, his voice lowering even more. "Because I can think of many other things I can sue you for, David Dean. After all, you were there when I bought Strands. And I doubt very highly that Sam received even half of what I paid for that piece - even after the gallery's commission. Off the top of my head, there's fraud, embezzlement - grand larceny at the very least. I can even throw in destruction of private property for the rest of the paintings that I believe you destroyed."

There was a pause, and I heard David laugh nervously. "Well...there's no reason for you to get that melodramatic to prove a point. I'm surprised you remembered me. You should have said so when I first met you at the...Sam's house."

"I never forget a face, David, though I do understand why you'd choose not to remember me. That was quite a price you put on that painting."

"So, what's going to happen now?" David asked. "Who's going to take care of Mikey tomorrow when Jenna and I will be in Vegas during the week for a show? My mom can't handle him on her own-"

"I will," Erik said. "Sam and Michael will be staying with me until she's ready to go home. My sister will be with me."

"You? You couldn't even keep her away from getting hurt!" David scoffed.

"What do you suggest, David?" Erik asked, and this time, I must have opened my eyes, finally focusing on both of them standing close to the curtains. Erik had leaned forward, and David had taken a step back. "Would you want me to call child support services and have him placed in foster care instead?"

"Um, no!" David stammered. "I didn't mean-"

"I'll take care of him," I said though my voice barely came out loud enough for both of them to hear me. "He's my son. I'll take care of him."

Erik and David turned to look at me, startled. Erik's face - his eyes especially - almost broke me. He looked utterly devastated as he rushed over and leaned over me, his long fingers stroking my face. He had a habit of studying my face that, in the beginning, made me so self-conscious, but now, it almost felt natural.

"Hey, beautiful," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I hope we weren't too loud."

"I'll take care of Michael," I said again, in case they hadn't heard me the first time. "Just don't...just don't call foster care, please."

"I wasn't planning on it," Erik said, worry stamped on his face as I grabbed his arm with my good hand.

Just then the curtains were drawn aside, and an older man with a thick head of dark brown hair walked in. Ignoring the tension that hung in the air between the two men standing by the left side of the bed, he stood by my right side, studying the bandaged arm for a few seconds before smiling at me.

"You must be Samantha," he said jovially. "I'm Doctor Samuels. I'll be performing your surgery."

Before I could say something, David stepped forward. "I'm David Dean, her ex-husband. What kind of surgery are you talking about?"

Doctor Samuels glanced at Erik momentarily, a look passing between them before he turned towards David. "I'm going to perform exploratory surgery on her forearm and hand. I need to clean and close the laceration in her arm. Usually such things don't happen for a few weeks - mainly because of the patient's insurance and surgeon availability, even hospital availability. But I'm here, and the sooner we learn of any tendon or nerve damage, the better chances of recovery."

"No," I whispered, the last two words Doctor Samuels spoke making my throat tighten.

"Doctor Samuels is one of the best surgeons in the country," Erik said.

Tears filled my eyes then, and the older man asked both men to leave us alone. "Gentlemen, I need to speak to the patient alone," he said and waited till Erik and David were gone before turning to look at me.

"I paint with my right hand," I whispered. "I should have just called 911 and not get involved."

"I can't promise you anything, but I will try my best to do whatever I can," he said. "Erik told me what happened. I understand that there are two lacerations - a minor one on your palm and the one I'm more concerned about, which is the deeper laceration along your forearm."

"Why can't I feel much down my hand?"

He shrugged. "Swelling most probably, which is one of the body's methods of protecting and healing itself. The swelling has probably pinched on some of the nerves passing through the flexor retinaculum. That's why I need to do what I can and explore the wound so we know what course of action to do next. But I'm optimistic that whatever caused the laceration-"

"An Exacto knife."

"-didn't sever any tendons or nerves."

The tears flowed down my face again and he handed me a tissue before continuing. "Erik was lucky to have caught me when he did. I was just about to drive to Santa Barbara for a game of polo."

"I'm sorry I took you away from your game," I said.

He shook his head, chuckling. "I'm a doctor, not a professional polo player. Besides, I'd rather be doing this than drive two hours and then sit on a horse for another two hours chasing after a damn ball," he grinned.

"You're lying," I said, smiling.

"I go up to Santa Barbara every week, Samantha, but I always prioritize emergencies," he said, grinning. "I also haven't seen Erik in three, no, four years. So while today's circumstances are not exactly ideal for a reunion, I was glad to hear from him again. He was among my most promising surgery fellows, along with-" he paused, before continuing. "-Serena. Well, she was his girlfriend then, but that was before he made the decision to go into community medicine."

I didn't miss the look that flitted across his face. "Is it really so bad to go into community medicine?"

"No, dear, it's not. In fact, I admire him for choosing to do something many doctors, even myself, are not willing to do given the other opportunities open to us," he replied. "Anyway, you're going to be under general anesthesia for the surgery, and you'll need to do intensive rehab post op. The nurse will tell you more about it later."

I nodded, watching him take something that looked like a paper clip from his coat pocket. He did a series of tests that involved him running the tip along my exposed fingers peeking from the bandage while asking me a series of questions.

Can you feel that? Can you feel this?

A few minutes later, a smile graced his face, as if pleased to see the results he wanted.

"No extensive nerve damage from what I can tell right now although I'll know more when I open your arm up. The bandages are designed to ensure minimal trauma during transport which means it also keeps you from moving the arm too much," he said. "The only thing you need to do from here on is getting better."

"What I did was stupid," I said. "I should have left her to do whatever she wanted."

"What you did was brave. I don't even want to know what would have happened if you hadn't been there," he said. "I'll see you in the operating room."

The curtains were drawn again and this time, an orderly and a nurse arrived to get me to the operating room, disconnecting whatever I was hooked up with, and releasing the brakes on the hospital bed for transport.

They pushed the gurney into the hallway, the nurse giving me the lowdown of what was about to happen though I was barely listening. I kept my eyes on the arrangement of ceiling acoustic tiles and lights that flew past above me, almost mesmerized by them and not wanting to think of what was about to happen - that I was going into surgery and that maybe I'd be able to paint again. Or maybe not.

"You're in good hands, my dear," said the nurse. "Doctor Samuels is one of the best."

As they turned the gurney around a corner, hit a large square metallic button that opened the double doors to the surgical wing, I thought I'd heard Doctor Samuels' voice to my right.

I turned my head to see Doctor Samuels in an adjacent room with its door swinging open as if someone had just entered, and someone indeed had. It was a man dressed in green scrubs with a the cap and mask that did nothing to hide the blue eyes that caught my gaze as I was wheeled past.

"Are you ready for this, Erik, my boy?" I heard Doctor Samuels ask.

"For my girl, Doctor - always."