My motorcycle stood behind a chain-link fence. The headlight hung open like a damaged eye. One mirror was missing. My helmet rested on the seat, its chin strap still fastened.
I stopped walking.
“They said I wasn’t wearing that.”
The investigator photographing the bike looked up.
“Then we’ll document exactly where it was found.”
At the hospital, a physician examined my jaw and ordered imaging. Nothing was broken. The relief arrived tangled with anger, as though an intact bone might somehow make the rest less serious.
Rachel seemed to read my expression.
“You don’t need a fracture for this to matter.”
I looked away before she could see me cry.
Daniel waited outside while I gave my statement. Before leaving, he told me that an independent state team would handle the investigation.