My appendix ruptured at 2 a.m., and I called my parents seventeen times before the world began to blur. My mother finally texted back: “Your sister’s baby shower is tomorrow. We can’t leave now.”
Part 2 “My name is Gerald Maize,” he said. His voice was a low rumble, the kind of sound that makes you feel safe even when the world is falling apart. I clutched the hospital blanket to my chest, my…