The hospital waiting room was a blur of blinding whites and hushed voices, the fluorescent lights humming above Lauren’s head. She sat still, her hands clenched in her lap, and eyes sore from her constant crying and sleepless night.
Her clothes now rumpled from the two days that she had continuously worn it—clung to her like a second skin and her mother’s still, pale face haunted her every thought.
Dr. Patel’s previous words from the other night before echoed relentlessly, haunting her every minute: tampered medication. Someone had stolen her mother's life from her, and the weight of that truth pressed heavily against her chest, sharp and unyielding.
She glanced at the wall clock mounted on the wall—8:05 a.m. Dr. Patel had promised to update her on the toxicology test result, and every second shevwaited for him, she felt the overwhelming sense of betrayal from her mother's memory. Her legs continued to bounce, her nails digging painfully into her skin. She needed answers instantly,
