It had only been three days since Marlene left for Georgia, but to Isla, it felt like three weeks. Time warped when you were constantly on your feet—double-checking charts, restocking supplies, taking late-night calls, and jumping in for procedures she normally delegated. The clinic was running, but just barely. And the edges of her were starting to fray.
Marlene’s sister was still in critical condition. Isla checked in every morning and every night, but updates were sparse and rarely hopeful. She could hear the strain in Marlene’s voice, even as her friend tried to sound strong. Isla worried about them both. She always did.
Now, slumped in the breakroom over a steaming mug of herbal tea she hadn’t taken a sip from, Isla let herself exhale. Her limbs felt like stone. Her ponytail was hal
