Caroline Jordan opened her eyes and stared at the empty side of the bed. It was February 7, 2022—two weeks since she'd rushed her fiancé, Joey Moughan, to the emergency room with a failing heart. Joey's skin had turned gray. He had been fighting for air, his vital organs shutting down. Replaying the scene in her mind, Caroline felt a knot tighten in her throat. She forced herself to take a deep breath.
She got up, made coffee. Fed the pets, a rescue sharpei named Kangy and their two cats. Pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, a pair of silver glitter Keds—perhaps it would help, to wear something cheerful?—and stepped outside. The Virginia rain frizzed her light-brown hair into a halo.
Half an hour later, she walked through the doors of Sentara Norfolk General Hospital and headed for the advanced heart failure clinic. It had taken her days to accept that Joey was actually a patient in this ward. Maybe they just stuck him here because that's where they had an open bed, she thought when he was first admitted. He can't really be in advanced heart failure. Except he was, due to a medical fluke with no clear-cut explanation. |
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