That was all it took. Wilbert’s face snapped into motion. Of course it did. He turned away from me and handed my life over like a trivial expense. “Save her first,” he told the staff, voice flat and decisive. “She can’t lose her hands. Anika, wait a little longer.” He looked at me like I was a problem to schedule.
I wanted to scream. I tried to tell him, “I didn’t do anything, I didn’t—” but my words slurred into nothing. The room spun and his eyes stayed on me for the shortest of seconds, pity or calculation, I couldn’t tell which. Then he was gone, walking after the people who carried Nivianne, like she’d been the real casualty all along.
They wheeled me away anyway, but I heard their footsteps fade toward the other bed. I watched the ceiling tiles blur and thought, How am I supposed to matter when a staged sob and a perfect sobbing voice can buy a man’s entire conscience?
I had no strength left to fight him. Time dragged slow and cruel, and every second I thought my chest would stop rising. I really believed I was going to die on that table, but something in me refused to give up. My body clung to life until the doctors finally wheeled me into the emergency room.
.....