Chapter 67

James carefully settled Maria into the backseat, clipped her seatbelt, then scrambled into the driver’s seat, fumbling to pull up the nearest hospital on his phone. As he stepped into the hospital again, the overpowering scent of disinfectant hit him like a wave, making him instinctively uncomfortable. Watching the nurses wheel Maria into the emergency room was like a punch to the gut. He leaned against the wall, then slid down onto the bench, his whole posture radiating helplessness. He was a mess. The place was soaked in white—white walls, white floors, white ceilings, doctors in white coats, nurses in white uniforms. So white it felt suffocating, like color and time both stopped existing here. Somewhere nearby, someone wailed in agony. Doctors and nurses moved routinely, pushing patients in and out of rooms. And the words—“Please wait outside”—were repeated like a script, over and over, to worried families. In this building, people were born, people passed on. Everyone was wrapped u