I sat on the cold wooden bench, watching rain pelt the courtyard bench while Donald’s legal warning echoed in my ears.

I climbed the concrete stairwell to the third floor and stopped in the phone nook near the ICU corridor.

My cell phone showed three missed notifications, none of them from hospital extensions.

I tapped the screen and called Vanessa’s number directly.

She answered on the fifth ring, the thumping beat of pop music and the metal clatter of dress hangers ringing through the receiver.

“Where are you right now?” I asked her.