Last Flight Home
she said hoarsely one afternoon, "when I'm discharged, let's leave this place. We'll move to another city, alright? I'll finish handing over all my work, and I'll never see him again."
I did not reply.
I heard promises like this too many times before.
That afternoon, my phone screen suddenly lit up.
A message from an unfamiliar number appeared.
"Mr. Vance, guess what? If I walk onto the rooftop right now, do you think your Dr. Miller would abandon your child just to come save me? How about we make it a bet?"
Attached was a photo.
A wrist wrapped in bandages. And in the background–clearly visible–the corner of the hospital rooftop.
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