The hospital waiting area smelled like disinfectant and burnt coffee.

I sat on a plastic chair with my hands locked together hard enough that my fingers ached. Across from me, Danielle paced a short line between a vending machine and a pillar, phone pressed to her ear.

"No - not at the house. Hospital," she said. "I don't know yet. Yes. I'm here." A pause. Her free hand pushed into her hair. "Mum, just come."

She hung up and exhaled through her nose, eyes glassy, then forced them clear when she caught me watching.

A doctor in a pale coat stopped in front of us with a tablet against his...