“I’m fine, Raymond.”
“You know, I used to visit Aunt Margaret all the time before she died. I helped her handle her finances and personal affairs. Family should take care of family.”
Something about the way he said it made my coffee suddenly taste bitter.
“That was kind of you,” I replied. “But I have to get ready for work.”
I ended the call before he could ask anything else.
The hospital smelled of 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.
