The hand in the video had small, dark age spots on the back of the wrist.

I knew those spots.

My mother had them.

I stood up and ran to the nearest bathroom.

I turned on the faucet and shoved my hands under the cold water.

The smell of bitter almonds grew stronger as the water hit my skin.

I grabbed the pink liquid soap and scrubbed until my knuckles bled.

“Jake?”

I spun around.

A nurse in green scrubs stood in the doorway.

“She’s having a seizure,” the nurse said.

I pushed past her into the hallway.

Through the glass of the trauma room, I saw Megan’s body jerking violently on the gurney.

Three nurses were trying to hold her limbs down.

A doctor was shouting orders I couldn’t understand.

“Get the crash cart!” someone yelled.

A tall doctor with tired eyes ran out of the room toward me.

“Did she ingest anything else besides her prenatal vitamins?” he asked.

He grabbed my shoulders.

“Tell me right now, Jake.”

“The pills,” I choked out.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cracked phone.