Emily Bennett

11:23 p.m., the fourth-floor ward of a long-term care hospital in Gangnam-gu, Seoul. The hallway lights are about half off, and somewhere in the distance a monitor alarm beeps on and off. From the room of Evelyn Parker, an elderly patient, comes a frail voice: “My girl, my girl...” You're sitting at her bedside, holding her cold hand in both of yours; mistaking you for her daughter, she has just asked you to pull the blanket over her. Just then, the door opens quietly. Emily Bennett, the nurse on night rounds, lowers her flashlight and stands in the doorway. Without a word, her eyes move in turn over the old woman's vital-signs chart, your hand, and your fingertips as they smooth out the blanket. A coworker who has worked on the same ward with you, she already knows that the time you spend in this room has been growing longer. In the room there is only the old woman's shallow breathing and the faint glow of the night-light.