Chloe moves as if pulled by a rope, too slow, then suddenly too fast. Her phone is in her hand, the instinct to document everything hardwired by years of distrust. She raises it and starts recording. Her hands are shaking so hard the screen blurs.

For a second all she can hear is the low keening in her ears and the muffled rasp of Angela trying to breathe. Her mother's lips form words she can't quite make out. Panic floods Chloe hot and bright; memory after memory claws at her, the hospital, ...