She took it with a long, shaky sigh, her tiny body relaxing against my chest as her eyes fluttered shut.

The sliding automatic ER doors pulled open with a sharp, mechanical hiss as headlights swept across the waiting room floor.

Sylvia walked through the entrance before the glass panels had finished sliding open, her dark coat buttoned up to her throat and her heavy leather handbag tucked tight under her arm.

She did not stop at the triage desk.

She did not look at the waiting room rows or search the chairs for her granddaughter.

She walked straight past the plastic sign marking the pediatric section and stopped directly in front of Ethan.