Gabriella
The halls of the hospital were quiet in the middle of the night—more accurately, in the early morning hours of Sunday. Within the small chapel, that eerie silence was but another element increasing my apprehension.
I'd made a proclamation upon our arrival to the hospital. The circumstances hadn't changed. Derek Sinclair was still in surgery. What was changing felt like an out-of-control locomotive.
Within my ears, I heard the buzzing of the warning signal.
Caution.
Caution.
It rang out, warning that we were moving too quickly.
I peered around, curious if others heard the alarm.
My mental fog lessened as I concentrated on the words of the woman before us. She held no special place in our lives, and yet she was the clergy on call—the official who would change our lives.
