My focus was on a small figurine of Maria that hung on the wall above the door. Try as I might, I cannot remember the color of her clothing or what she was holding. I just remember her expression—downcast eyes, thin lips—as if she were deep in thought.

I almost prayed to her, demanding answers.

Everything was warm, except for my feet. Except for my will and the thought that maybe this strange, unfamiliar room would be the last thing I'd see.

Voices echoed outside in the corridor. Mother rushed again, calling for the nurse. The eyes that watched me above the door turned mellow.

Perhaps I should have prayed.