I recognize where we are. What amazes me isn’t the fact that we end up in the hospital parking lot, but that Kate is pretty good at driving my Pontiac. It’s not the quiet kind of car, the little family saloon that we entrust to a novice at the steering wheel, but a nervous tiger quick to get carried away... My little wife managed like a boss. I look at her profile as she manoeuvres to park it. She’s pale. I mean, more than usual.
“Are you alright?”
This is at least the fifteenth time she has asked me this question. I answer her again yes, but with a grunt... no words. I would have liked to do it, just to erase all that fear on her face since she wrapped her sweatshirt around my forearm and right hand. She then ordered me to press hard on the fabric that I feel wet under my fingers. My ey
