Chapter 13

Hospitals always smell like bleach and regret. By the time they wheel me down to discharge, my head is a dull, static hum instead of the full‑volume scream it was last night. I keep my eyes on the ugly gray linoleum, sunglasses on even though we’re inside, fingers tight around the plastic handle of my belongings bag. “Ms. Lane, you’re all set.” The nurse at the desk smiles, sliding a clipboard across. “We’ve emailed your records to your primary and flagged the incident for follow‑up....