I was discharged from the hospital. My parents called, “We’re at the shopping mall preparing for your sister’s birthday.

For a moment, I thought I had misheard. “What?”

“We’re picking up the cake and balloons for Tessa’s birthday. The bakery was delayed, and your father had to stop for candles she wanted.” Then, lowering her voice slightly, she added, “You’ll have to take a bus.”

I went silent.

“A bus?” I repeated.

“Well, yes. Or a taxi, if you prefer. You’ve already been discharged, so clearly you’re fine.”
Fine.