Carla checked the monitor.
She shined a small light into Mallory’s eyes.
She adjusted the blanket over Mallory’s legs with the kind of careful hands that made Mallory’s chest ache.
“You scared everyone,” Carla said.
Everyone.
Mallory looked toward the window.
Two visitor chairs sat there, empty.
No flowers from her mother.
No balloon from her father.
No note from her sister.
The only signs that Mallory belonged to anyone were Ethan’s jacket hanging over the chair, Jenna’s paperback on the tray table, and a grocery-store bouquet wilting in a plastic pitcher beside the sink.
“Where are they?” Mallory asked.
Ethan looked at Carla.
It was a small glance.
It told Mallory almost everything.
“My parents,” Mallory said. “Did anyone call them?”
Carla lowered the clipboard.
“We contacted every emergency number listed in your chart,” she said. “Your mother answered twice. Your father returned one call.”
