The hallway outside the room went still in that strange hospital way, where noise never truly stops but suddenly every sound has distance.
A cart squeaked somewhere far off.
A voice murmured through a speaker.
The air vent hummed.
Then the door opened.
The nurse stepped in.
She was not the same nurse who had checked my blood pressure earlier.
This one wore navy scrubs, her hair pulled back tight, a badge clipped to her chest, and the kind of expression that made me think she had seen too many people lie badly.
Her hand was still on the door handle when she stopped.
Her eyes went first to the black monitor.
Then to the loose cord in Tessa’s hand.
Then to me.
Then to my mother.
Nobody moved.
“What happened to the monitor?” she asked.
She said it calmly.
That was the worst part for Tessa.
Tessa understood anger.
