She danced like there was no tomorrow.
She drank champagne and kissed the boys until their lips were sore. She shimmied and twirled and laughed and sang, and for the briefest of moments Amelia was on top of the world.
But then the bomb exploded.
She was rushed straight to hospital. What remained of her, anyway. The remnants of her leg remained in the club, scattered like scraps of bird feed.
The surgeons did what they could. It wasn’t much.
It was only a matter of time, they told her.
She closed her eyes and fell unconscious…
There was no tomorrow.