Natalie's cheek still burned where her father's hand had landed. The slap had knocked her sideways into the pillow and the IV line tugged at her wrist. She steadied her breath and stared at the seam where wall met ceiling. The room smelled like antiseptic and wet coats. Outside, a cart rattled by and faded.
On the floor, Samantha began to cry. She stayed on her knees, hands to her face, shoulders shaking as if the weight of guilt had finally picked a place to sit. When she looked up, her eyes were red and wide.
“It's my fault," Samantha said, voice cracking. “All of it is my fault. I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have bothered Natalie. I only wanted to apologize. I only wanted to say I'm sorry." She dragged in air. “Because of me… because I kept needing things… she lost the baby.
