CLARA pushed the glass door open, the faint chime above announcing her exit. The cool breeze of the hospital corridor brushed against her face, but it did nothing to ease the heaviness in her chest. Her heels clicked softly against the tiles as she walked, but her movements lacked the usual confidence she carried. Today, she was fragile, her world had shifted again, and not for the better.
Her eyes dropped to the paper in her hand, its crisp edges cutting against her palm as though mocking her. The black letters danced before her blurred vision, a cruel reminder that life sometimes had no mercy. Clara quickly folded the paper, almost angrily, and shoved it into her bag. She didn’t want to look at it again. Not here. Not now.
“Miss Clara, have a good day,” the receptionist called politely
