Grace had been fine initially. But she woke up with a fever on a Tuesday. By Thursday night, she was in a hospital bed with wires on her chest and a red allergy band on her wrist.
« Penicillin, » I kept saying. « Severe. Please write it down. »
By Friday afternoon, they had moved her to the ICU.
They nodded every time.
Daniel stood at the foot of the bed with his hands in his pockets, wearing that tight, polite expression he uses with strangers. He kissed Grace’s forehead and told her she was brave.
Then his phone buzzed, and he stepped into the hallway.
When I asked who it was, he said, « Work. It’s nothing. »
By Friday afternoon, they had moved her to the ICU.
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