The cold sterility of the hospital had begun to gnaw at my nerves. Pacing back and forth wasn't helping either. It only amplified the weight of everything pressing down on me—the helplessness, the worry, the guilt. I had to get out of there. Maybe work could distract me, offer some semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos.
But as I pull out of the hospital parking lot, my mind drifts to something else—something far less noble. Vivian. Specifically, the stupid, impulsive thing I did a few days ago that I can't seem to shake. It was reckless, childish even, and the shame of it has been eating me alive.
I tell myself that I'll apologize to her. First thing when I get to the office. She might not want to hear it—probably won't—but I have to say it. For my own sanity, if nothing else.
Once home, I take a quick shower, trying to wash away the tension clinging to me. I dress quickly, ignoring the weight in my chest, and head to the office.