Sweat soaked through my clothes. I shoved at the wall of bodies surrounding me, my voice cracking, half-sob, half-plea.
"Please, just let me through! My mother is dying. She needs surgery right now. I'm begging you!"
They didn't move. They kept shouting questions, kept snapping photos, kept pressing me for the answers they'd already written.
In the shoving, my phone slipped from my hand, hit the floor, and was trampled beyond recognition.
I bent to pick it up and a palm cracked across my face so hard my vision went white.
"A shameless homewrecker like you doesn't deserve a mother. Using her as a prop for sympathy? You make me sick!"
The woman who struck me spat the words with venom, her eyes brimming with contempt and disgust.
My head swam. My cheek burned like it had been pressed against a hot stove. Despair and fury crashed through me in equal measure.
Security guards charged up the stairs, shouting.
"This is a hospital! Clear out now, or we're calling the police!"
The moment a gap opened, I threw myself up the remaining flights.
But the instant I burst through the door of the hospital room, every ounce of strength drained from my body.