CLAIRE ANDERSON
The hospital room is quiet except for the steady beep of machines, a rhythm that's become the soundtrack to my nightmares. I sit beside my grandmother's bed, her hand limp and fragile in mine, and I stare at the stack of bills on the bedside table like they're a death sentence. The numbers blur together, each one higher than the last, and I feel the weight of them pressing down on my chest until I can barely breathe. Emily's eyes are closed, her face pale against the white pillow, and I wonder how much longer she can hold on. I wonder how much longer I can hold on.
I've been running on nothing but caffeine and desperation for the past five days. I work double shifts at the convenience store, fall asleep in my lectures, and spend every spare moment at the hospital, watchi
