I cringed at the smell of antiseptic and floor cleaner the momenti stepped into the hospital. It's a smell I associate with of sickness and pain and hope.

Carrying a paper bag in one hand, I walked through the automatic doors, having stopped by the convenience store down the street. Inside were the usual things I brought Alex. A bottle of orange juice, the kind he liked with extra pulp. Some crackers in case he got hungry. A magazine about cars because he used to like reading about cars, even ...