Chapter 3 - THE WAITING ROOM ALIBI
St. Mary’s Emergency Department was a maze of fluorescent lights, hurried nurses, and the low hum of monitor alarms. They placed me in a curtained bay in Cubicle Four, where a young resident named Dr. Vance ran an EKG and drew blood to test for electrolyte imbalances and oxygen deprivation. Within forty minutes, the tests confirmed what Eric already suspected: acute panic-induced hyperventilation triggered by severe environmental stress and physical exhaustion.
While an IV drip pumped saline into my dehydrated veins, the curtain parted to reveal my father and Jake, wearing expressions of practiced concern. My mother was conspicuously absent, having allegedly suffered a “migraine from the shock.”
“Amber, honey, you gave us such a scare,” my father said, pulling a plastic chair beside the bed and resting a heavy hand on my arm. “Next time, if you feel anxious, just step outside instead of causing a scene in front of the whole family.”
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I stared at him, the IV line cool in my arm. “A scene?” I echoed, my voice hoarse from the oxygen mask. “I couldn't breathe, Dad.”
“You always overdramatize things,” Jake added, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Eric made a massive deal out of nothing. People were eating cake, and you had to drop a glass.” Before I could summon the energy to reply, the curtain swept open again—and Eric stood there, holding a paper cup of water.
