“She doesn’t want your money, Ethan,” I said. “She told you that.”

“She needs it to live,” he replied flatly.

He turned toward the elevators at the end of the hall, his long coat billowing slightly behind him.

“Watch her, Evelyn,” he said without looking back.

“I always do,” I said.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, swallowing him into the bright, metallic interior.

I watched the floor numbers count down on the wall panel until the light stopped at the lobby.

Outside, the snow was falling faster now, covering the streets of Chicago in a thick, silent blanket of white.

I turned back toward Mary’s room, my hand resting on the cold metal door handle, wondering if the warmth we were trying to build would be enough to survive the storm that was coming.

I stepped into the quiet warmth of Mary’s room.

The heart monitor gave a steady, rhythmic beep.

Lauren was curled up in the vinyl armchair in the corner.

She had a blue crayon in her small hand, coloring the edge of a paper cup.