“Who are you?” The man carrying the newspaper asked her, scrunching up his brow. He looked her up and down, completely befuddled. One by one, the other man, the doctor, and the stormy woman turned to look at her. They wore almost identical expressions of confusion. Rey blinked, speechlessly. The appropriate answer was "a waitress", or "a stranger," or even "a crazy, perpetually single woman who’s been hopelessly, inexplicably in love with your comatose son for weeks."
Behind her, the nurse huffed, cocking her hip. As if it was obvious, she said, “She’s his fiancée.”