“There is a social worker on duty today named Sarah,” Dr. Morris said. “She specializes in family transition.”
I stared at the paper, my thumb tracing the blue ink. “Daniel will see it.”
“Daniel is still downstairs,” Dr. Morris said. “And Sarah is just down the hall. There are places you can go where he cannot find you, Elena.”
I looked at the doorway, expecting his shadow to appear on the linoleum at any second. “My girls are still at the house.”
“We can help with that, too,” Dr. Morris said. “But you have to make the choice.”
Out in the hallway, a woman in a green cardigan was standing by the nurses’ station, holding a clipboard. Dr. Morris nodded toward her.
“That is Sarah,” Dr. Morris whispered. “She is waiting to talk to you if you are ready.”
Through the gap in the curtain, I watched the social worker’s calm, steady movements as she wrote something down on her clipboard. For the first time in seven years, the wall of isolation around me felt like it had a single, loose brick.
The curtain slid back with a soft scrape of metal rings against the bar. Daniel stepped into the small space, his leather loafers silent on the hospital linoleum.
He was carrying a paper cup of water, and his face was bright with the same look he used when he was about to close a listing. He pulled the small rolling stool close to the gurney and sat down, immediately taking my hand.
“They said you just need to rest a bit more,” he said, his voice dropping into that warm, low register he saved for clients. “The doctor wants to run a few routine checks, but then we are heading home.”
He squeezed my fingers, his skin dry and warm.
“I was thinking about the cabin in Sedona,” he said, looking at me with a soft, steady gaze. “We can take the girls next week, take them up into the red rocks where it is cool.”
I looked at his collar, where a small speck of dust sat on the seam of his blue shirt.
“We can put all this behind us, Elena, just like we did last winter,” he said.
He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch light, almost reverent.
“A whole week of just the four of us,” he said. “No phones, no work, just some quiet time by the creek.”
