I shoved my hands into my hoodie pocket as Jasmine and I drifted down the long white-walled hallway that circled the hospital building. The fluorescent lights above hummed faintly, and our footsteps echoed against the linoleum floor. Every so often, we passed by wide rectangular windows that gave us a peek into the lives unfolding in those rooms. The experience we got was heartbreaking and profound at the same time.
The first one we stopped at and observed subtly had a man with an oxygen mask strapped over his face. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath a small war. A woman—probably his wife—sat curled up in the chair beside his bed. Her hair was messy, her eyes swollen like she hadn’t slept in days. She just kept staring at him, gripping his hand, as if letting go would mean los
