The walk to the conference room feels endless. Williams doesn’t speak, which only makes my anxiety worse. My mind racesthrough possibilities. A problem with one of my patients? An issue with my research? But Williams’s expression tells me this is something else entirely.
He closes the door behind us, and suddenly I can’t breathe properly.
“Jordan, I’m sorry to have to tell you this.” Williams sits down heavily. “Your sister was in an accident this afternoon.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “What kind of accident?”
“Car accident. She’s here, in the ICU.”
My legs feel unsteady. Amy. My sister. Who was just laughing with me this morning over pancakes. My sister, who talks about her forever home and worries about feeling like a charity case.
“How bad?”
Williams’s pause tells me everything. “She’s in a coma, Jordan. They’re doing everything they can.”
The room tilts. I grip the edge of the table to steady myself. “Where is she?”
“Fourth floor. ICU wing.”
I’m already moving toward the door before he finishes speaking. The elevator ride to the fourth floor takes forever. My hands shake as I press the button repeatedly, as if that will make it move faster.
The ICU is quieter than the oncology wing, filled with a different kind of urgency. I find Amy’s room and stop in the doorway, my chest tightening at the sight of her.
She looks so small in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines and tubes. Her blond hair is matted with dried blood, and there’s a bandage across her forehead. She’s always been the strong one between us, the one who kept us both together during the worst parts of our childhood.
Now she looks fragile. Breakable.
“Dr. Hadley?”
I turn to find Dr. Rockaway, one of the ICU attendings, standing behind me.
“How is she?”
“We’re monitoring her closely. The head trauma was significant, but her vitals are stable. We won’t know the full extent until she wakes up.”
“When will that be?”
Dr. Rockaway’s expression is carefully neutral. “It’s hard to say. Could be hours; could be days. Sometimes longer.”
Sometimes longer. The words echo in my head as I move closer to Amy’s bedside. I reach for her hand, which feels cold despite the warm blanket covering her.
“What happened?”
“From what we understand, she was rushing to pick up her baby from daycare when someone ran the red light and drove into her car. The other driver is fine, but your sister took the brunt of the impact.”
Henry. My mind snaps to attention. “The baby. Where’s Henry?”
“He’s safe. He wasn’t in the car. The daycare center called when she didn’t show up to pick him up.”
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by a new wave of panic. “Where is he now?”
“Still at the daycare. They’ve been trying to reach emergency contacts.”
Emergency contacts. That would be me. And our parents in Florida.
“I need to go get him.”
Dr. Rockaway nods. “Of course. Do you have experience with?—”
