Everyone finally noticed that the janitor was wearing full protective gear—hazmat suit, face mask, and rubber gloves.
Wrapped up that tightly, Hilda's fear escalated. Her knees buckled as she stood, trembling uncontrollably.
With trembling lips, she asked the janitor, "I-Is it HIV?"
The janitor glanced at her sideways, crouched to pick up the trash can lid, then looked into the bin and said, "The contaminated waste from the HIV patient's surgery was sealed in a biohazard bag. From what I can see, the bag's intact. But since you're injured, it's best to get a blood test—just to be safe."
With that, she pushed the cart away.
This was the surgical wing—relatively quiet.
But the moment the word HIV was mentioned, the small crowd that had gathered to eavesdrop scattered in panic, as if the virus could leap through the air.
Silence returned to the hallway.
Hilda's eyes shot daggers at Grace, her chest heaving in rage. She was shaking with hatred.
