in Twinkle Falls
Copyright © 2026 by Freda Ann
Prologue (draft)
(Nicole – 3 years ago)
Wincing, I struggle to raise my puffy eyelids while feeling something cold beneath me. Rolling my head to the side I try taking in my surroundings. That’s when I get a glimpse of blood on the concrete under my twisted body… my blood.
Ahhh, what— I draw a ragged breath while trying to figure out what’s happening but that’s when my world turns black.
The next thing I remember is waking up in a white sterile looking room full of machinery emitting various tones and the blinds half closed. With fuzzy eyes I notice silver rails on each side of the bed I’m laying in. While blinking glimpses of a nurse taking my vitals comes into view. When finished, she moves to the foot of the bed to type on a computer.
“Where… am I?” I ask attempting to focus on the room. I struggle to fully open my eyes, but only manage to see pieces of my surroundings.
Pain shoots through me as I try lifting my hand to my swollen eyes. Unable to bear the pain rushing through me my arm drops on top of my right leg as tears sting my eyes.
“Try not to move, Nicole.” A mature and soothing voice approaches me from the foot of my bed. “You’re in the hospital on base. I’m told you were also here a few weeks ago. Can you tell me what happened this time?” The nurse inquires.
My brain feels jumbled, like I’m trying to put together a puzzle without all the pieces, as I attempt to recall what could have put me in here.
Gently I shake my head staring at her while sobbing. “Why—” Unable to put words together I pause.
Breathing deep to calm myself isn’t easy though I manage to take a few before speaking slowly and softly. “Why can’t I… remember?”
“Oh, honey don’t be so hard on yourself.” She pats my arm. “In your condition you should thank God for being alive. If that knot on your head had been an inch closer to your temple, you wouldn’t be here.
“I realize it’s frustrating, but as you heal from the concussion and your other injuries, your memory should get clearer. It’s important to let it unfold naturally and not force it. Putting pressure on yourself will only delay the progress, you hear me?”
Closing my eyes for a few seconds, I open them and manage to blink away the tears. “Some would, um, say that I’m not the most patient person during times like uh—” Swallowing the lump in my throat, I add, “—this.”
As the nurse stops typing on the computer, she comes closer saying, “That’s understandable.”
Lifting my gown, she gently pushes on my abdomen. “Does this hurt?”
Shaking my head, I wonder why she’s asking as she palpitates lower. When I open my mouth to ask, a gut-wrenching scream flies out followed by more tears.
Trying to control my breathing so I don’t hyperventilate, I manage to gasp, “What’s wrong with my stomach? Why—” Sucking in some air, I continue, “—why does it hurt so bad?”
“I need you to lay back and do your best to stay calm. I’m going to increase your pain meds before letting the doctor know you’re still having pain. I’m sure she’ll want to do another exam.”
Squinting, I glare at her. “Is something else wrong?”
“You’re in good hands sweetie. Just calm down and the doctor will be here shortly.” She says while increasing the IV drip and leaving the room.
Fighting the tears, I wonder exactly what else is wrong with me and why can’t I remember everything?
* * *
A few weeks later I’m released from the hospital, though the brain fog from the concussion continues to persist. With my emotions are all over the place I miss my family more than ever.
This morning I received word my ex-boyfriend was arrested for aggravated battery on me and also on one of the latest new hires. During the investigation one of the women, who didn’t re-up, came forward and gave a recorded statement along with proof of sexual assault by the man I thought I loved.
In the coming weeks, a close friend stays with me most of the time. Still unable to drive. She takes me to most of my follow up appointments. How could I have been so blinded by what I thought was love? I should’ve seen the signs over the past few months, not, not to mention his mood changes.
With my injuries, I’m told there’s a chance I may not be able to return to work. What am I going to do if the career I love is ended before I’m ready?
With my brother and best friend leaving me several messages asking if everything is all right. I can’t find the words to explain how this all happened.
This is not how I want my career to end. Why didn’t I pick up on his mood changes? Remembering my therapist words to be kind to myself and don’t accept any blame, I focus on my recovery.
Dealing with my depression has become more manageable thanks to my physical and psychological therapists. As my brother’s wedding date approaches, I realize the only way to fully heal is to retire earlier than planned and seek the support of my family.
Freda Ann, Author 