We sat in the little lobby waiting area beneath a framed print of a city skyline that had always looked depressing to me.
Evelyn told me she had experienced what doctors called a serious cardiac event.
Not a full heart attack, but close enough that minutes had mattered.
Very much.
She said the emergency team told her that if she had kept walking alone much longer, or if help had come later, the outcome might have been very different.
“I remember your face,” she said. “Not clearly. But enough. I remember you asking if I was okay. I remember you catching me.”
I looked down at my hands.
“I’m just glad you’re here.”
She tilted her head.
“What do you do exactly?”
“Client outreach. Campaign strategy. A little of everything. Small agency life.”
“Do you like it?”
The question hit me harder than I expected.
Liked.
Past tense, maybe.
