Third Person POV
Evelyn Whitmore drove to the hospital with the radio off. The city lights slid by in a blur, and the familiar route that had once felt like the path to quiet dinners and charity galas now felt like the approach to something sharp and unknown. The evening air pressed against the car windows; inside, the heated leather smelled faintly of jasmine from the diffuser she kept in the glove compartment. Small comforts, she told herself. Necessary comforts when a stranger had just put a shadow across her life.
She arrived without fanfare. The hospital was bright and clean, fluorescent lights giving everything a hard honesty she did not like. Evelyn took her purse, smoothed her dress, and walked in with the careful composure of a woman used to being watched and judged.
At the desk she gave her name, and the young woman behind the counter looked up with polite interest. "Room 407. You'll find her on the east wing. Visiting hours are almost over, ma'am."
