“No.” My voice was firm. “Get your shoes on. We’re going back.”
The drive to Mercy General was suffocating. Josh sat in the back seat with the twins, one on each side in baskets we’d grabbed from the garage.
Mrs. Chen met us at the entrance, her face tight with concern. “Jennifer, I’m so sorry. Josh just wanted to…”
“It’s okay. Where’s Sylvia?”
“Room 314. But Jennifer, you should know… she’s not doing well. The infection spread faster than we anticipated.”
My stomach turned. “How bad?”
Her expression said everything.
We rode the elevator in silence. Josh carried the babies like he’d done it all his life, whispering softly when they fussed.
Sylvia looked worse than I imagined—pale, almost gray, hooked up to IVs. She couldn’t have been more than 25. Tears filled her eyes when she saw us.
“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I didn’t know what else to do. I’m all alone, and I’m so sick, and Derek…”
“I know,” I said quietly. “Josh told me.”
