I parked in the concrete structure next to the main building.

I carried Lily through the pedestrian walkway, feeling the heat radiate from her forehead against my neck.

The automatic doors at Memorial Hospital slid open at four in the afternoon.

The admission clerk sat behind a thick pane of safety glass in the busy lobby.

“Insurance card and primary identification,” the clerk said.

I slid my wallet out of my purse.

I pushed the plastic cards under the metal slot at the bottom of the window.