I wheeled my metal IV pole out into the corridor to escape the quiet of Room 314.
The linoleum floor was cool beneath my bare feet, and the distant hum of the ice machine near the central desk was the only sound in the hallway.
Sarah, the floor nurse with the quiet tread, met me near the central desk and reached for my arm to wrap the black velcro blood pressure cuff.
“You are pushing yourself too fast, Clara,” Sarah said, watching the pump on her rolling cart.
“I need to clear my head,” I said, keeping my fingers moving in a steady five-beat tap on the steel pole.
The machine hissed, releasing the pressure as the digital display settled on one hundred and thirty-four over eighty-eight.
“Your baseline is much lower than this,” Sarah said, her eyes narrowing as she noted the numbers on her tablet.
“The boys will need formula when we get home,” I said, thinking of the hospital pharmacy invoice I had seen on the desk. “St. David’s charges thirty-eight dollars for a single box of the newborn blend.”
“We can send you home with a few starter cans,” Sarah said, her voice softening as she patted my hand. “But you have to promise to sit down.”
I looked back toward the end of the hall, where the silver elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.
A tall woman in a beige coat stepped out, but she turned toward the south wing before I could see her face.
“Is my husband still downstairs?” I asked.
“He was in the lobby twenty minutes ago,” Sarah said, unplugging the blood pressure monitor. “He was talking to a man with a briefcase.”
“Who was the man?” I asked.
“I didn’t get his name,” Sarah said, adjusting her stethoscope. “He had a silver pin on his lapel, like the ones the corporate lawyers wear.”
I didn’t say anything else, but my mind was already running through the potential names.
The Vance legal team had five senior partners, and three of them specialized in family trusts.
I stepped back into the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind me.
