EMMA
Twenty minutes later, just as the shift was changing and the hospital was transitioning from nighttime vibe into daytime brightness, I dragged my feet down the hallway toward Dr. Girard's office. I hadn't felt this much trepidation and guilt since I was a sophomore in high school.
The door was open, and I paused just outside. He was sitting at the desk, his head bent over the keyboard of his computer. As before, he seemed to feel my presence before I made a sound.
"I wondered if you'd come, or if you'd just pretend that this morning didn't happen."
I sighed, resting my back against the doorjamb and stretching my neck. "I have a quick temper, and I have a tendency to speak before I think. My mother used to say that my mouth went into drive before my brain was engaged. But even so
