disinfectant, medicine, and the quiet anxiety that seemed to live permanently inside its walls.
That morning, I pushed my cart down the long hallway, checking room numbers and patient charts.
I was already exhausted, and it was not even ten o’clock.
Room 220.
A new patient had been admitted for long-term care.
I opened the door, stepped inside, and glanced at the chart.
The first name made me stop breathing.
Thomas.
Then I saw the surname beneath it.
My hands tightened around the file.
It could not be him.
There
