I arrived at the hospital after my lectures concluded.
My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag as I stepped through the sliding doors.
Cold air hit my face.
My stomach rolled.
I had checked the time at least six times on the way there. I knew her routine now. I knew when she arrived. I knew which floor. Which room. Which nurse.
I knew everything.
That didn’t stop my hands from shaking.
I kept them buried inside my sleeves as I walked to the waiting area and sat down. The chair felt too hard. Too small. My knees bounced before I could stop them.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
The room hummed with low voices. A child whining. Shoes squeaking against tile.
I swallowed.
It felt like something was crawling up my throat. Like I might throw up right there on the polished floor.
Why
