The Ambulance and the Attempt to Separate Us
The ambulance arrived almost unnaturally fast, as if staged. As medics lifted me onto the stretcher, Patricia grabbed my mother’s arm. “You’re not going with her,” she ordered. “We’re taking her to our family clinic. It’s the best facility in the state.”
That word — facility — twisted my stomach. My mother refused to back down. She forced her way in beside me just before the doors closed. Outside, Ryan and Patricia stood on the hotel steps, their faces tight with frustration. This wasn’t about an injury. It was about control.
