her down the hall.
In room twelve, a small boy sat upright in bed, his left wrist wrapped, dark hair clinging to his forehead. His face was pale, his lip split, and his eyes—wide, scared, painfully familiar—locked onto mine the instant I entered.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he whispered, “Nora?”
My mouth went dry. “Yes.”
His chin trembled. continue reading …
