“Go check the cabinet,” the paramedic told her partner.

“I’ll go,” I said, starting to move. “It’s a small white bottle.”

“Stay here, sir,” the officer said, putting a hand out. “Let the paramedic get it.”

The second paramedic walked down the narrow hallway toward the bathroom.

My mother shifted her weight, her boots squeaking on the linoleum.

She took a small step toward the exit, her eyes fixed on the front door.

“Ma’am, please stay where you are,” the officer said, his voice polite but firm.

“I need to get some air,” my mother said, her voice rising slightly. “It’s very crowded in here.”

“Just a moment, please,” the officer insisted, stepping into her path.

The paramedic returned from the bathroom, his face grim.

“The cabinet is empty,” he said.

“What?” I asked, shaking my head. “No, we just refilled it two days ago.”

“There’s nothing in there,” the paramedic repeated.

Megan groaned again, her body twitching as the paramedics began to lift her onto a stretcher.

“We need to transport her immediately,” the female paramedic said.

“Her vitals are dropping.”