Chapter 2 - THE RIDE TO ST. MARY’S
The ambulance interior smelled of antiseptic, cold metal, and artificial lemon. I lay on the stretcher with an oxygen mask strapped over my nose and mouth, the dry, pressurized air rushing into my lungs like a long-awaited gift. My hands still tingled with a phantom numbness, and my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. One of the paramedics, a middle-aged man with kind, tired eyes named Miller, monitored my blood pressure while his partner filled out the intake forms.
“You’re stabilizing, Amber,” Miller said gently, his voice cutting through the mechanical hum of the vehicle. “Your oxygen saturation is coming up. Just keep breathing with the mask.” I wanted to nod, but my neck felt stiff, weighed down by the emotional exhaustion of the past hour. I thought of the kitchen sink, the shattered wineglass, and my mother’s cold eyes staring at me over the glittering sash. They weren’t coming in the ambulance. My mother had stayed behind to manage her guests, telling the paramedics she needed to “calm the elderly relatives,” while my father and Jake promised to drive to the hospital later. Even in a medical crisis, their first instinct was audience management. Eric, however, had followed the ambulance in his own car, parking outside the emergency bay to ensure I wasn't entering the hospital completely alone.
