Chapter 3 - The Medical Paper Trail
The local urgent care smelled of antiseptic and burnt floor wax. Evander sat on the paper-covered examination table, his hands clasped between his knees, staring blankly at the tile floor while a young physician assistant named Dr. Patel examined the right side of his face.
"Significant soft tissue bruising," Dr. Patel muttered, jotting notes onto a digital tablet. "Definite contusion across the zygomatic arch. Did she have rings on?"
"Two," Evander replied hollowly. "Heavy gold bands."
"Well, they left distinct linear impressions. I'm documenting it all with photographs for your forensic file." The doctor turned toward me, gesturing for me to sit on the neighboring stool. "Now let's take a look at you, Mrs. Vance."
I unbuttoned my ruined flannel shirt, revealing the white athletic undershirt beneath. The liquid had seeped through the weave near my left shoulder and across the base of my throat. The skin was mottled angry scarlet, covered in small, raised blister patches where the broth had lingered longest before I stripped it away.
"First and second-degree burns," Dr. Patel noted, clicking his camera rapidly. The flash illuminated the sterile room in stark white bursts. "You're lucky. A couple of inches higher and you’d be dealing with corneal abrasions or permanent facial scarring. Mushroom soup holds heat notoriously well because of the cream and butter base. It acts almost like napalm on contact."
"I pulled my chin down and rolled my shoulder inward," I explained calmly. "Muscle memory."
Dr. Patel paused, looking over the top of his glasses at the lean, corded muscle across my shoulders and the subtle cauliflower formation along the upper ridge of my right ear. "You fight?"
"Used to," I said. "Seven years in Invicta and two in the UFC bantamweight division before my shoulder reconstruction."
Dr. Patel let out a low whistle. "And your sister-in-law tried to jump you?"
"She didn't know," Evander said, rubbing his temple. A bitter smile touched his lips. "Maya never brought her championship belts to my mother’s house. She didn't want Delphine making passive-aggressive comments about 'unladylike aggression.' My family just thought Maya was a quiet personal trainer who ran a boutique fitness studio downtown."
"Well," the doctor said, applying a thick layer of silver sulfadiazine cream over my burns, "she found out the hard way. I'm compiling the complete injury report alongside the high-resolution images. Officer Ramirez already called ahead to request them. The county prosecutor isn't going to look kindly on this."
As Dr. Patel bandaged my shoulder, Evander’s phone began vibrating violently against the counter. The screen lit up with twenty-two missed calls and a cascade of text notifications from a family group chat titled *The Sterling-Vance Dynasty*.
I leaned over to read the preview banner:
May you like
*Delphine: Evander, you get down to the precinct right now and tell them to drop the charges or you are dead to this family. That violent whore you married fractured your sister’s wrist!*
Evander stared at the screen for a long, agonizing moment. Then, with a steady thumb, he tapped the screen twice: *Leave Group*, followed immediately by *Block Contact*.
