Fifteen minutes later the same tech emerged, skin pale. She shook her head at Tessa’s unspoken question. “Heart rate’s erratic. Dr. H is giving epinephrine. He’ll keep trying until there’s nothing left to try.” She rested a gloved hand on Tessa’s shoulder, then hurried off.
Tessa gripped the chair arms, heart hammering. The fluorescent lights felt surgical, exposing every worry she’d buried since Portland—the layoff, Lucas, the empty apartment. She muttered a promise into the quiet: Hang on a little longer, please.