I stared at him.
“Before she passed, Mary had questions.”
“Someone specific? Who?”
“I can’t tell you who a patient is. That’s confidential, and it has to stay that way.”
My mind went straight to Jonathan.
I thought of every late night phone call.
Every time he’d stepped out of the room to take a work call that never seemed to end.
“Someone specific? Who?”
The way he’d run off as Mary was being wheeled into surgery.
Had he asked our daughter, while she was dying, to save someone he cared about?
Someone I didn’t know existed.
“Was this about my husband?” I asked. “Did he pressure her into this?”
“I’ve said as much as I can say, ma’am. Please… speak to your husband.”
“Did he pressure her into this?”
The doctor walked away.
I sat there for a while longer.
Then I went looking for Jonathan.
***
I found him in a small family waiting room on the third floor.
