Mia pulled a pot of boiling oil off the stove when my back was turned for ten seconds. Ten seconds was all it took.
I ran every red light between our house and that hospital. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely keep them on the wheel.
The triage nurse took one look at us and ran for the doctor. Then the doctor took one look at me.
Leather vest. Beard. The patches on my back.
He glanced at his clipboard. Then he said six words I’ll hear for the rest of my life.
“We don’t treat uninsured patients here.”
I thought I misheard him. I told him my baby was dying. I begged him to help her.
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