The fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway flickered as heavy sneakers pounded against the linoleum floor. Ten-year-old Toby slammed through the double doors of the neonatal intensive care unit, his backpack bouncing wildly against his shoulders as he panted for air.
Toby: No, no, please! Stop!
Mark: Get out of here! Who let this kid into the ICU?
Sarah: Mark, don't scream at him! He's just a child!
Mark: Our son is dying in that box, Sarah! I don't give a damn about some random kid!
Toby ignored the shouting and pushed past the sterile plastic barrier. His curly brown hair was soaked in sweat, and his eyes stayed fixed on the plastic incubator where newborn baby Leo lay motionless beneath a web of thin clear wires.
Sarah: Please, sweetie, you can't be in here. The doctors said he only has a few minutes left.
Toby: I have to touch him. I promised I would save him.
Mark: What did you just say to my wife?
Mark stepped into the small room, his cheeks red with pure panic and exhaustion. He grabbed Sarah's shoulder, shoving her backward as tears poured down her face.
Sarah: Stop pushing me, Mark! It's not my fault the baby was born early!
Mark: It is your fault! You refused to take the rest the doctor ordered!
Before Sarah could answer, Mark lunged forward and brought his heavy palm down across her cheek with a sharp, brutal slap that echoed through the room.
Sarah stumbled back into the glass window, clutching her swollen red cheek in total shock while sobbing hysterically.
Toby: Don't hurt her!
Toby reached his small hand into the side portal of the incubator, gently resting his fingers against baby Leo's ice-cold wrist.
Above them, the heart monitor gave one long, terrible screech as the green line flattened completely across the screen.
Mark: See what you did?! He's gone!
Toby: He's breathing. Look at him.
Mark froze as Toby stood calmly with his hand raised over the infant, refusing to back away as the alarms screamed.