Six
Freya’s shoulders sagged at the scent of chicken broth from the food trolley some kitchen worker left parked beside her. That smell. The salty-savoriness. It made her heart twist and plummet. Not because she sat in a hospital per se, but because in her younger years, she’d preferred her hospital stints to her dispiriting daily home life with her mother and brother.
“How long has she been having problems?” The words grated through her throat, and she turned to the young female doctor sitting on a chair before her.
The quaint furniture in the small alcove and upbeat floral arrangement on the coffee table hinted that this place existed for the express purpose of delivering bad news.
“From looking at Ms. Branner’s chart, years.” The doctor peered down at her notes, her sandy blond bang
