“I know,” Kara replied. “We need space.”
I watched strangers hurry past me. I watched the door swing inward and then shut again.
Minutes later, a doctor with a calm voice and a clenched jaw stepped into the hallway. His badge read “Dr. Patel.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “We did everything we could.”
Daniel placed a steady hand on my shoulder.
After that, everything blurred together like a fever dream.
The funeral happened because Daniel organized it. My sister Mia answered the door, stacked casseroles on the counter, and kept whispering, “Just breathe.”
Daniel signed paperwork. Daniel spoke with the hospital. Daniel kept telling me, “Don’t worry. I have it.”
At that point I couldn’t even imagine dealing with any of it.
A week after the funeral, the hospital called.
A clerk named Tessa said, “We still have Grace’s belongings. Her clothes. You can pick them up.”
Daniel looked up from his laptop too quickly. “I can get them,” he said.
Then he hesitated. “Actually, maybe you should. For closure.”
At the hospital, Tessa handed me a clear plastic bag labeled with Grace’s name.
Hannah appeared behind the desk and froze when she saw me. She didn’t smile or offer the usual sympathy script. She took the bag from Tessa and placed it into my hands like it meant something important.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Then she glanced up at the ceiling camera. One quick look. One flinch. And she walked away.
At home, I went into Grace’s room and closed the door.
