Raymond yanked the wheel, heart hammering. The truck skidded sideways across the icy road, fishtailed once—twice—before catching on dry gravel near the shoulder. It jolted, then straightened. He didn’t breathe for a full five seconds.
Then he forced himself to keep driving. Lights appeared ahead, dim through the snow. The small clinic building, a converted farmhouse tucked just off the road, came into view. He pulled into the lot, brakes squealing, and the moment the truck stopped, the clinic door swung open.