A nice support system

I run out of the car once we arrive at the hospital. I walk into the lobby and quickly walk to the front desk to ask about Uncle Jack.

“Please, I am here to see Jackson James,” I say to the woman at the front desk wearing a nurse uniform.

“He is still in surgery. You can wait in there,” She says, pointing to the door by her left.

“Why is he in surgery? What happened to him?”

“He was shot,” The nurse says,

I feel my legs suddenly give out that I have to use the desk to stop myself from falling. I don’t want to believe her words.

“Shot, He was shot? How? Why? How” I ask the nurse multiple times because I don’t understand why my Uncle was shot.

“I don’t know why my dear, but the doctors are doing everything they can to save him.”

“Why would someone shoot my Uncle? Why?” I ask no one, in particular, this time. I feel someone wrap t