Chapter 1: The Request
The fluorescent lights of St. Jude Memorial Hospital burned through my closed eyelids. I remember the smell first—a sharp, sterile mixture of rubbing alcohol and bleached linen, completely devoid of the overpowering lavender air freshener that masked the scent of dampness in the laundry room back home. My throat felt like cracked parchment, and every beat of my heart sent a rhythmic thud of pain against my temples.
I opened my eyes to the steady beep of a heart monitor. A woman in a white coat stood beside my bed. Her badge read Dr. Melissa Grant. She was adjusting an IV line taped to the back of my bruised, emaciated hand.
