His hesitation was brief but enough to send a cold bolt of fear through me, different from the cooling of fever dreams or freezer lids. It was real, alive, coiling around my heart. “We just need to make sure of a few things,” he replied, voice level but eyes deeply concerned. I nodded, though uncertainty gnawed at my insides like a persistent rat.
When I got home, I held the note from school in both hands, a tiny scroll declaring me worthy of attention. Mom read it quickly, her eyes skimming as though it were a grocery list. Her brow furrowed for a heartbeat, a flicker of emotion I hadn’t seen before—concern? Worry?—before settling back into neutrality.
“Get your coat,” she said, an uncharacteristic tremor in her voice. I obeyed, unsure if this was a new chapter or just a detour on the same story. Dad drove us to the hospital in silence, the hum of the engine a lullaby of sorts, lulling my anxiety into a temporary stupor. Felix was at a friend’s house, oblivious to the drama unfolding without him.
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