ELLA

The caregiver isn’t a caregiver.

What the actual fuck?!

My head hurts, but not as much as my feet in these Louboutins.

She—

No way. No.

I sprint down the corridor like a chicken with a farmer not far back. I barely see Devlin’s frame. It’s a blur of frantic movement and yells loud enough to shake the hospital’s foundation and cause the world to spin to a halt.

Eyes draw to us like magnets. I wear a permanent grimace, praying for a third nostril as breathing has become ...