The doorway stood empty. The entire corridor appeared abandoned, except for the occasional nurse scurrying by. Even that was very far and few between.
Please God, please.
Corey Nolan surveyed her languid five-year old. One minute she had been fine—in the blink of an eye she was here, hooked up to a ventilator to help her breathe, a tube stuck up her nose, another one down her throat and a needle jammed in her tiny hand. The cuff on her arm wrapped around to check her blood pressure periodically.
Happy Sunday, everybody!