Grant explained the diagnosis.

My father walked into Room 314 the next morning carrying a thick blue folder under his arm.

He didn’t say hello.

He pulled a plastic visitor chair up to the edge of my bed and sat down.

The metal legs scraped loudly against the floor.

Linda followed a step behind him.

She stopped just inside the room, keeping a careful distance from the monitors stacked against the wall.

She smoothed the front of her beige cardigan with both hands.