My Childhood Sweetheart Asked Me to Sign a Special Folder in Room Four Hundred Seven

Nurse Evelyn was standing by the dirty utility room, holding a grey plastic bin filled with discarded water cups and paper wrappers. She stopped when she saw me, her plastic clipboard tapping a fast, nervous rhythm against her thigh.

“Sarah,” she whispered, her eyes darting toward the main nurse’s station where two floor clerks were typing. “You need continue reading …