Life has a poetic way of circling back to the moments we most wish to forget, forcing us to confront the ghosts of our past in the most sterile and unforgiving environments. As a registered nurse with sixteen years of experience, I have seen almost everything—the fragility of life, the resilience of the human spirit, and the quiet dignity of those facing their final hours. But nothing prepared me for the visceral surge of adrenaline and nausea that hit me when I looked at the chart for Room 304. The name was Margaret. It had been twenty five years since…
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