Mara stepped aside to let me pass, then followed me out into the brightly lit corridor.

The hallway smelled of floor wax and antiseptic, the familiar scents that had defined my life for fifteen years.

“I am so sorry,” Mara said as we walked toward the elevator.

“It’s not your fault,” I said, staring at the floor indicators. “Just promise me you’ll watch over the ICU.”

“You know I will,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

“Go home,” I said, though the thought of my empty, quiet apartment offered no comfort. “And call my lawyer.”

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

I stepped inside, turning to face Mara as the doors began to slide shut, cutting off my view of the clinic floor.

In the lobby, I bypassed the main entrance to avoid the staff and slipped out through the side exit near the ambulance bay.

The afternoon air was cold and damp, a grey mist hanging over the parking lot.

I walked to my car, my hands shivering as I unlocked the door.