The corridor felt colder as I stared at the glowing screen in my hand.
My inbox was a battlefield, subject lines screaming in bold red flags, warnings, alerts, messages marked URGENT, IMMEDIATE, CLOSURE RISK, and worse.
My breath hitched. I didn’t even click them. I couldn’t.
Not here.
Not with the smell of antiseptic burning my nose.
Not with my father somewhere beyond swinging double doors, fighting for breath.
But one subject line stood out as if it had been written in blood:
WITHDRAWAL NOTICE – EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY
My hand trembled so violently that I almost dropped the phone.
My fingers clamped around it as the hallway tilted around me.
More messages flooded in, frantic staff, board members, reporters, all demanding answers I didn’t have.
All blaming me.
The last message
