This time, there was no laughter.
There had been an accident on a rain-soaked highway.
By the time I reached the hospital, both Emily and Lucy were gone.
I had spent decades walking those corridors, reassuring frightened families and delivering difficult news.
That night, I became the person standing on the other side of the conversation.
I remember a colleague approaching me with tears in his eyes.
I remember him saying my name.
And I remember knowing, before he spoke another word, that there was nothing anyone could do.
For a long time afterward, I couldn’t bear to enter Emily’s old bedroom when I visited the family home.
Lucy had left drawings on my refrigerator.
Continue on the next page:
