We had barely stepped out of the car when a team of nurses rushed forward with a stretcher. Chloe and I helped Mum lie down, careful not to jostle her weak frame. Cole barked something to one of the orderlies and jogged alongside as they wheeled her inside.
I stayed close, clutching my mother’s cold hand until they reached the restricted zone. Then a nurse gently, but firmly, blocked my path.
“I’m sorry. You can’t go beyond this point.”
I wanted to argue, but I forced myself to let go. I watched as the doors shut behind her and swallowed hard, trying to breathe past the rising panic.
A doctor approached us moments later. Middle-aged, stern-faced, white coat neatly pressed. “You must be Miss Astrid.”
“Yes,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “What’s the plan? I was told we’d be flying
