Linda walked through the hospital corridors with careful steps, her hand trailing along the wall as if she needed the solid surface to keep her steady.
Each footfall echoed softly against polished floors that reflected the afternoon light streaming through tall windows.
She kept seeing fragments of the morning: Nina's pale face against white pillows at St. Mary's, the way the doctor had avoided her eyes when he said "there's nothing more we can do here."
The drive between hospitals afterward, David's knuckles white on the steering wheel while she made call after call from the passenger seat.
The polite but firm voices saying "we'll need to see your insurance information first" before doors closed one by one.
Her chest felt tight with the memory of coming home that final time, Nina too weak to walk upstairs alone, asking in that small voice why the doctors kept sending them away.
