Part 2

The next morning, I packed a small bag with Patricia’s favorite tea and reading glasses. I stood by the door with my coat already on.

“Michael, I’m coming with you today.”

He stopped at the mirror, adjusting his tie too carefully. “Sweetheart, we talked about this. The doctors said that too many visitors stress her out. Let me handle it.”

“Ah, all right.”

He turned and kissed my forehead, the way he always did when he wanted a conversation to be over. “And you’re an angel for caring. But the drive is brutal, and you’ve been exhausted. Let me carry this one for you.”

I let him leave. I always let him leave.

That afternoon, I wrote another check for three thousand dollars and pushed it across the kitchen counter.

“The rehab wing again?” I asked Michael.

“They’re charging us for the physical therapy now. Insurance won’t touch it.”

“Michael, that’s the fourth check this month.”

He held my face in both hands like I was something precious. “You’re saving her life. You know that, right? My mother is going to walk again because of you.”

I wanted to believe him. I needed to.

But that night, I found a receipt in his jacket pocket for a restaurant I had never heard of, sixty miles in the opposite direction from the hospital. And on his collar was that new perfume again, sharp and floral, nothing like mine.

The next day, I called the hospital myself. A young nurse answered.

“I’d like to check on Patricia in the rehab wing, please. This is her daughter-in-law.”

There was a long silence. “Ma’am, no one has visited her today. Are you sure you have the right ward?”

The dial tone buzzed against my ear.

My thumb stayed pressed to the red button long after the screen went dark.

In my other hand, the shirt I had been folding sagged loose, its collar slipping over my fingers and pooling at my wrist like something already discarded.

That evening, I tried to ask Michael in the same calm way I always did.

“Michael, when did you last see your mother?”

“This morning, honey. Why?”

“The nurse said no one visited today.”

He laughed. “Babe, those nurses rotate every twelve hours. Half of them don’t know which patient is which. The doctors specifically asked me not to bring anyone else right now. You have to trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

I said it like a prayer, as if saying it aloud could make it true again.

Three days later, Michael zipped his suitcase beside the bed.

“Three-day conference in Denver. I’ll check my phone whenever I can.”

“Tell your mom I love her.”

“Always do.” Michael kissed me and left before the coffee cooled.

That afternoon, my phone rang while I was folding his shirts. The number was not saved.

“Is this Patricia’s daughter-in-law?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“This is Dr. Hensley. I’ve been trying to reach Michael for hours. His phone goes straight to voicemail. Your number was listed as Patricia’s secondary emergency contact.”

My fingers froze on the collar in my hand. “What’s happening? Is Patricia all right?”

“Her condition has worsened significantly. You need to come now. And ma’am, there are some things we need to discuss when you arrive. Things about her care.”

“What things?”

“Please. Just come.”

I grabbed my keys, purse, and coat all at once.

As I drove down the highway toward a hospital I had not seen in a month, I realized I had no idea what had really been happening inside those walls. And I was about to find out alone.

My tires screeched into the hospital parking lot before I even remembered leaving the highway.

I ran through the sliding doors, past the front desk, past a janitor holding a mop, my coat slipping from one shoulder.

Before I reached the elevator, a nurse stepped directly in front of me. She was small, gray at the temples, and she pushed a folded note into my palm.

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