The hallway grew deathly quiet. The distant beep of a heart monitor, the squeak of a nurse’s rubber sole—everything muted.
I stared at his mouth, convinced I had misheard. “No,” I whispered, shaking my head frantically. “No, you’ve mixed up the files. That’s a mistake. She’s fifteen years old. She barely leaves her bedroom except to attend school. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend.”
Through the narrow crack in the door, I could hear Hailey. She was sobbing, a deep, guttural sound of absolute despair. Her shoulders heaved violently under her oversized hoodie. I stepped back into the room, reaching out to wrap my arms around her, to shield her from this impossible reality. But the moment my fingers brushed her shoulder, she flinched violently. She didn’t just pull away; she scrambled backward, pressing her spine against the cold wall. It wasn’t me she was retreating from, I suddenly realized. It was the crushing, suffocating weight of the truth she was carrying.
