ZACH’S POV

Every second felt like an eternity as I imagined Joan lying in a hospital bed, scared and in pain. I clenched my fists, willing the cab to go faster.

When we finally arrived at the hospital, I threw some money at the driver and sprinted inside. The sterile smell of antiseptic hit me as I approached the front desk, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

“My daughter, Joan Stewart,” I said to the nurse behind the desk. “She was brought in. Where is she?”

The nurse glanced at her computer and then pointed down the hall. “Room 204. Take the elevator to the second floor.”

“Thank you,” I...