OLIVIA
A nurse had taken Enrique from my arms the moment I stepped through the ER doors, rushing him away on a gurney before I could even process it. Now I sat on a stiff plastic chair, my hands locked together so tightly in my lap my knuckles had gone white. I kept my eyes on the swinging double doors he had disappeared behind, as if willing them to open again would somehow speed up time.
It felt like hours before they finally did.
A doctor stepped out, still wearing gloves.
"Mrs Garcia"
I stood so quickly my knees nearly gave out. "How is he?"
"He is stable," the doctor said. "But it was a close call. The gunshot wound is showing signs of infection. Likely from too much strain on the stitches. That is common when someone pushes themselves too hard which I warned against when I discharged him only yesterday."
I swallowed, guilt twisted low in my stomach.
"Is he going to be okay?" I whispered.
