“You’ll hear from Corliss.”

That had already been said, and she knew it, and she said it again anyway, more quietly.

She walked back down the corridor to the waiting alcove, sat down beside her mother, and opened the portfolio on her knees.

They weren’t leaving.

At noon the shift changed, and the hallway emptied out.

I pulled the vinyl chair to the bed, opened the message thread with her name at the top, and started at the beginning.

The first eleven were nothing.