I had been sitting in that stiff plastic chair for almost twenty minutes, but every tick of the clock above me stretched into something long and heavy. My daughter was inside that room, still lying on that hospital bed, and yet I sat out here, paralyzed by the shock of everything that was going on.
The thought hit me like a stone: what am I doing out here? She needed me. She had just been through something that nearly took her life, and here I was with my hands pressed together, my mind spinning, my chest burning. Shame mixed with panic in my stomach until I finally pushed myself to stand.
My legs felt like they were carrying weights as I moved toward the emergency room. The door seemed farther than it was, like the hallway itself was stretching to keep me away. When I reached for the ha
