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. Nurses moved with practiced calm; visitors shuffled with tired faces. Evelyn took her purse, smoothed her dress, and walked in with the careful composure of a woman used to being watched and judged.
