The siren carved through the night like a warning meant for someone else, not the woman strapped to the stretcher, tasting metal and praying her babies could survive the choices of people who loved mall discounts more than her pulse. I remember the fluorescent ceiling sliding by, the medic’s fingers pressing my wrist, his voice low: “We almost lost you.” In that instant, I understood something I had spent years refusing to see—no one had changed, no one had snapped, no one had broken character. They had simply followed the same script they always did, and I was the only one who mistook it for fa… Continues…
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