Mike POV
The clinic lights were harsh, brighter than the midday sun, but far colder. I stepped into the hallway outside Eloise’s room at exactly 6:10 p.m., cringing at the sterile hum of hospital noise. Silence, except for the recycled air and the distant buzz of fluorescent lamps. Not the evening I—or Eloise—needed right now. Yet, here I was.
I closed the door quietly behind me and noticed her bed empty. My breath caught until I remembered, she’d told me her father might visit. That usually meant nothing intolerable. But tonight felt different. The air had shifted.
I followed the hallway, and at the very end room, I found her. Sitting up against the pillows, hair untamed, face pale but defiant. She stared at the doorway when I entered, without surprise. She had moved to a new room.
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