She did not speak much, her face solemn as she read the charts.

“Your blood pressure is stable,” she said.

“But you should not be leaving today.”

“I have to,” I said.

She did not argue.

She helped me sit up on the edge of the bed.

Every movement felt like fire in my lower abdomen.

I gripped the metal railing, my knuckles turning white again.

“Slowly,” she said.

I stood up, my legs shaking under my gown.

I took one step, then another.

By the time Margaret returned at 7:00 AM, I was dressed in a dark wool coat she had brought for me.

My hair was brushed, though my face was pale and hollow.

“Are you ready?” Margaret asked.

She carried a leather folder of her own.

“I am ready,” I said.

We walked slowly down the corridor.

Two tall men in dark suits followed us at a distance.

We took the private service elevator down to the basement garage.

A black sedan was waiting, its engine idling quietly.

The driver opened the door for us.