“The oxygen line was disconnected right at the intake,” Elena said, her voice dropping into a flat, level tone.

I held Brooklyn tight against my right side near the central counter, wrapping both arms around her small shoulders.

The sharp pulling pain at my incision burned like fire, but I didn’t loosen my grip on my six-year-old daughter.

“Brooklyn,” I whispered into her soft hair.

“Tell Nurse Elena what you saw.”

Brooklyn pressed her face against my elbow before looking up at the high ceiling.

She clutched the edge of her scratchy blue hospital blanket in both hands.