Collins said.

“No competent doctor would look at a child with these symptoms and give her a clean report.”

I looked down at the printed page in my hand, my thumb resting just below the dark ink of the radiologist’s findings.

I held the printed ultrasound summary in my hand, the measurements of the mass staring back at me.

Dr.

Elena Ramirez came through the heavy door of Room 412 at ten past seven.

She wore dark gray scrubs with her hospital badge clipped to the pocket, her silver-streaked hair pulled back into a neat bun.