“She’s a tough cookie,” said the doctor when he emerged from the radiology room. “Her left leg is fractured in two places, and she has extensive bruising, but she’s otherwise unharmed.”

“That’s a relief!” said my wife. “Can we see her now?”

“Yes, we’ve moved her to Bramble Ward. She has had a leg brace installed and has been given painkillers, so don’t be surprised to find her groggy.”

We made our way to the ward and saw our daughter in one of the beds.

“Hi sis! How are you feeling?” said my son as we approached.

“Crap… or high… maybe both!” my daughter replied, smiling weakly.

“The doctors have put you on painkillers, darling,” I explained. “You have a broken leg and it will probably be a few months before it heals.”

“I’m so sorry that your special day ended like this,” said my daughter. “It was going so well. But at least I killed one of my attackers.”

“It’s not your fault that we got attacked by rebels, dear,” I said. “And, from what I hear, you were the only person to stand up to them. You should be proud.”

“Though, I should let you know that you didn’t actually kill her,” added my wife.

“What? How’d she… I slit her throat with my claws!” sputtered my daughter with indignation.

“The paramedics got to her and saved her life before they attended to you.” I explained. “How did she come to be near you anyway? You both took different routes out of the ring.”

“Well, when they started beating me, I decided to play dead and fall to the floor. It worked, and I was able to crawl out of the ring. I picked up one of our Tasers from the props table to defend myself, and crawled to the backstage entrance to escape. When that woman appeared and came at me with her bat, I shot her. She fell on top of me shaking from the electric shock — it was easy then to slash her throat.”

Impressive, I thought!

“What was that loud explosion?” my daughter asked.

“That woman lobbed a grenade into the tank of acid. Many people have been killed, blinded or scarred for life,” I replied.

“Oh no!” said my daughter quietly, “That’s my fault.”

“Never say that!” chastised my wife. “How can it be your fault?”

“It was my idea to use acid,” replied my daughter, lowering her head. “The ringmaster wanted to use piranha in the act, but I persuaded him not to as it would have been cruel to the fish. I told him that in order to get the effect he wanted, he would have had to starve the fish for days in advance.”

We were silent for a moment, and it was my son who tried to lighten the mood.

“Hey, sis,” he said cheekily, “I hear your routine was pretty tasty today!”

My daughter smiled and I added, “Yes, your mum and I got rather frisky watching it! Where did you learn that?”

“I’m getting older Dad! And where I work it’s hard not to learn such things!”

“Besides,” she added slyly, “why should you be the only ones who get to play? Lena seemed to enjoy it…”

I stared at her — was she saying what I thought she was saying?

“Yes, Dad, I watched you three for a while. We do have CCTV installed on all the rides, you know! You’ll have a great sex tape waiting for you when you get home!”