My comatose daughter’s name was in my new husband’s pocket.
“Adrian,” I said, “why is my daughter’s name on that?”
His fingers tightened around the envelope. “Because there is no way back now, Kirsten. There is no way out of this.”
That morning, I had been sitting beside Lisa’s hospital bed, smoothing her dark hair over one shoulder. Even in a coma, she was still my girl, the one who hated having tangles in her hair. Still nineteen. Still mine.
Dr. Evans stood in the doorway with a folder pressed against his chest.
“Kirsten,” he said, “we need to talk about the neuro-rehab program.”
“I paid what I could yesterday, Dr. Evans. I can bring more on Monday.”
“The deposit is due next Friday. Without it, they will release her spot.”
I gripped Lisa’s hand. “Then hold it until Friday. Please.”
“I can’t.”
“You mean billing won’t bother trying.”
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