A plastic tube ran from her mouth to a ventilator beside her.

I walked to her side and took her thin, frail hand.

Her skin felt like damp paper.

“I’m here, Mom,” I whispered.

She did not move, but the monitor showed her heart rate spike slightly.

A nurse in blue scrubs walked into the room, holding a clipboard.

She looked at me with a mixture of pity and discomfort.

“Mrs. Carter,” she said softly.

“The administration office is looking for you.”

“I know,” I said, keeping my eyes on my mother.

“They sent me an email.”

“They are talking about discharging her to a long-term care facility,” the nurse said, lowering her voice.

“The orders came down from the board this evening.”

“My husband is on that board,” I said.

The nurse looked away, confirming my suspicion.

“I need to ask you something,” I said, turning to face her.

“It’s about an old employee of the Westside Clinic before it was absorbed.”

“A nurse named Evelyn Vaughan.”

The nurse frowned, thinking.

“The name sounds familiar,” she said.

“I think she retired from the pediatric ward here about five years ago.”