The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air like an invisible shroud as Chantel stepped hesitantly into the emergency ward of St. Grace Memorial Hospital. The air was cold, unnaturally still, and thick with the unmistakable aura of pain and waiting. Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a pale, almost ghostly glow that made the walls seem even whiter, the shadows even longer. The soft hum of machinery punctuated the silence—rhythmic beeps from a heart monitor, the occasional hiss of a ventilator, and the faint rustle of medical gowns in the hallway outside.
Chantel closed the door behind her, the gentle click startlingly loud in the solemn room. Her fingers lingered on the knob for a moment longer than necessary, as if letting go would make the moment real—final. She inhaled sharply, gathering her courage, then turned her eyes toward the hospital bed.
