I don’t think.
I just shift back as he reaches in and takes her, lifting her out of my arms like nothing, like she weighs nothing at all, her body limp against him in a way that makes something inside me crack all over again.
“Help!” I shout as we move, my voice loud, desperate, echoing in a way that feels too exposed. “We need help! She’s bleeding...she’s not—”
People turn.
Everything moves at once.
Voices.
Hands.
A gurney appears out of nowhere and they’re taking her from him, from us, laying her down, cutting fabric, pressing hands, shouting things I can’t fully hear.
“She’s unresponsive.”
“BP dropping.”
“I can’t find...”
“Get her in! Now!”
I try to follow.
I try to stay with her.
But hands grab me, pull me back, stop me from going further.
“You can’t come in!”
“No,” I snap immediately, trying to push past them. “No, that’s my...”
“You can’t come in.”
They’re already moving her.
Already taking her away.
Already disappearing through doors I can’t get through.
“I can’t find a pulse...”
The words hit me like something physical.
Everything stops.
My chest.
My thoughts.
Everything.
“No,” I say, and it comes out hollow, like it doesn’t belong to me. “No, that’s not...no!”
“She’s coding. Move!”
The doors swing shut.