“I need to be with her,” I said, trying to push past.

“You can’t go in there like this,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “You will introduce bacteria. Let us do our jobs.”

She pointed to a small changing room to the side.

“Put the scrubs on. We will come get you the second she is prepped.”

The steel doors swung closed, cutting off my view of Megan’s bed.

The silence of the hallway hit me like a physical blow.

I was alone.

I looked down at my hands.

There was a smear of Megan’s blood on my right palm.

It was already drying, turning a dark, rusty brown.

I walked into the small changing room, my legs feeling like lead.

A pile of blue paper scrubs lay on a metal bench.

The air in the room was cold and smelled of bleach and sour sweat.

I pulled off my flannel shirt, my hands still trembling.

Every sound from the hallway made my heart jump.

I could hear distant pages over the intercom, muffled voices, the hum of the ventilation system.