I woke up early to the sound of a crash. It was coming from the kitchen. I quickly ran downstairs and into the kitchen. Sitting on the floor, near a bunch of shattered glass was my six year old son. I rushed over to him and saw that his hand was bloody. "Daddy!" A voice called. I whipped my head around to face Alyssa, my two year old daughter. "Alyssa Davis Meyer. Do not come in here!" I yelled. She walked back to the living room. I quickly picked up the broken glass off the floor and off of Jackson's hand. I noticed that the cut needed stitches. I grabbed Jackson's non bloody hand and dragged him out of the kitchen. "Put your shoes on. We're going to the doctor." I instructed him. He slipped into his shoes. "Alyssa. Get your shoes." I shouted. She put her shoes on. I ushered both of them outside and locked the door. I opened the door and the kids got in the car. I drove to the doctor's office.
When we got there, I rushed them inside. I told the receptionist why I was here. A doctor, thankfully, had an opening. We headed to the room. Soon the door opened. I gasped. "There is no way that it's really you."