The stairs seemed easier than waiting for an elevator.

By the time I reached the next landing, my breath was ragged, and my knees hurt.

I didn’t care.

The third floor was quieter.

A row of closed doors lined one side of the corridor.

Through the glass panel of the last room, I saw my husband seated opposite two strangers.

The woman had both hands wrapped around a tissue.

The man beside her was rubbing circles across her back.