The hospital hallway was bathed in a white light, too bright, almost cruel in its indifference. The air smelled of disinfectant and plastic, an impeccable cleanliness that clashed with the dirt and chaos she felt in her chest. The metallic sound of nursing carts and the distant echo of a heart monitor seemed to mock her urgency.
I ran down the hallway, the soles of my boots pounding against the sealed floor. My breathing was a shaky gasp, and just as I stretched my hand toward the doorknob, a short nurse intercepted me. Her face, tired, reminded me of someone who had repeated this same scene too many times.
"Are you Miss Eliza?" she asked in a low voice.
My heart was beating so hard that I could barely hear her. Please no, please no... The plea was the only thing filling my mind.
"Yes, that's me," my voice came out as barely a whisper.
The nurse took a deep breath, as if she had to choose each word with surgical precision.
