CHAPTER 38: MARIA'S COMFORTFor a long moment, neither of them moved.Maria stood at the end of the corridor, chest still heaving from her run through the hospital. Her phone was gripped so tightly in her hand that her knuckles had gone white. Francis stood frozen by the elevator, the doors now closed behind him, his father gone, his mother's quiet sobs still audible from the waiting room.The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead."Francis," she said again, softer this time.He didn't answer. He just stood there, fists still clenched at his sides, jaw tight, eyes dark with everything he was trying not to feel.She closed the distance between them.Up close, he looked terrible. His sleeves were rolled up, his collar loosened. His hair was disheveled, as if he had run his hands through it too many times. There was a tightness in his shoulders she recognized — the kind that came from holding back something violent."I called you," she said. "Four times."Francis frowned. He reached into hi
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