A woman at the nurses’ station watched him with recognition in her eyes. She was older than the first nurse, with silver threading through her dark hair and a badge that read Charge Nurse Lauren.
Mark remembered her vaguely.
She had been in the room when Emily was bleeding.
She had called him.
His mouth went dry.
“You,” he said.
Lauren looked at him without surprise.
“Mr. Carter.”
“Where is my wife?”
Lauren held his gaze. “She asked that no personal information be released to you beyond what hospital policy requires.”
Mark blinked. “What?”
“She amended her contact permissions before discharge.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It isn’t.”
“She was barely conscious.”
“She was conscious when she signed the paperwork.”
Something about the word signed made his face burn.
Paperwork.
Emily signing alone.
The consent form.
The phone calls.
The dark screen in his jacket pocket while Madison leaned close and whispered, Today is about us.
Mark turned away, pressing his hand against the wall. For a moment, he thought he might be sick.
“I need to see my children,” he said.
Lauren’s eyes softened, though her voice remained firm. “You need to speak with NICU administration.”
“They’re my children.”
“Yes,” she said. “And they are patients. There are protocols.”
“Are they alive?”
The question broke out of him before he could stop it.
The hallway quieted inside his mind.
