I look at him, and whatever he sees in my face makes him step aside immediately.
Aware that he’s right behind me, I walk toward the hospital doors with only one thought left in my head.
I should have been with her.
But I’m here now.
And anyone standing between me and Savannah is a dead man.
17
SAVANNAH
The sliding doors open before I even slow down, and the blast of cold hospital air hits me so hard it steals what’s left of my breath. I go straight to the front desk, gripping the counter with both hands because my legs feel unsteady.
“My mother,” I say, already out of breath. “Mary Cross. She was brought in by ambulance. She needs surgery. A transplant, maybe. Please—she needs help.”
The receptionist types something, frowning at her screen. “One moment.”
Every second feels like a minute. My heart pounds so fast it thuds in my ears. I try to breathe evenly, the way the doctor told me to, but I can’t get enough air. I press my thumb into my palm to ground myself, but it does nothing. All I can think about is Mom lying somewhere alone, maybe scared, maybe hurting, and I’m standing here unable to reach her.
The receptionist finally looks up. “She’s being evaluated, but—Miss Cross, your mother’s chart shows outstanding balances and insurance denials. They won’t proceed with surgery without financial clearance. And a transplant—there’s a whole process for that.”
I blink at her. “I don’t care about the balance. She can’t wait. She needs the procedure now. You don’t understand, her heart?—”
“Miss Cross,” the woman interrupts gently, “I’m sorry. But she isn’t even on the list yet. And without approval or upfront payment?—”
Something cracks in me. I can’t even hide it. My chest tightens sharply, a familiar squeezing pressure, and for a moment I think my heart might be reacting to the panic the same way it did that night in the alley. Not now. Not now. I press a hand under my ribs and force the breath in. My heart is beating too fast, too light, like it’s tripping over itself, but I push the feeling down as hard as I can.
“Please,” I plead, voice shaking. “She’s all I have. She raised me alone. She worked two jobs until her heart got too bad to keep going. She doesn’t ask for anything. Please don’t make me lose her because of paperwork. I’ll figure out the money. I’ll talk to billing. I’ll do anything, I just—please help her.”
The receptionist looks pained, but she’s already lowering her eyes back to the computer. “The doctors can stabilize her, but they won’t operate without?—”
I don’t hear the rest. My vision blurs at the edges. I know I’m about to cry and I don’t want to. Not here, not in front of strangers. But I can’t stop it. My throat burns. My hands shake. My heart stutters again, a soft misfire that makes my knees weaken.
“I need to talk to someone,” I manage. “Someone in charge. Anyone.”
“Administration is down that hallway,” she says quietly. “First door on the left.”
I run.
The hall feels too long. Too bright. Too cold. I’m aware of my heartbeat going uneven again, skipping once, then thudding hard enough to make me gasp.
Not now. Please, not now.
I press a hand to the wall for balance, but I keep going because stopping feels worse.
At the admin office, a man in a suit steps out with a clipboard. “Miss! You can’t be in?—”
I lunge toward him. “Please. You have my mother’s case. Mary Cross. She needs immediate surgery. I know the insurance denied it but you have to let me talk to someone, she can’t?—”
He doesn’t even look at me fully. “Miss, I can’t discuss this with you right now. I have a meeting. If you’ll submit a written appeal?—”
“I don’t have time for an appeal,” I say, louder than I mean to. “She is going to die. Do you understand that? She will die.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry.”
He’s nonchalant. Too much for someone who took an oath to save human lives. I want to scream. Instead, I swallow the sound because something behind him catches my attention. He walks into his office, and I follow, desperate enough to ignore the way he tenses at my presence.
