“Arthur. Please call me Arthur.”
This dying man had been observing me far more carefully than I realized.
The following morning, the hospital called again.
“Ma’am, Noah’s latest test results came back. We need to move the surgery date up and begin pre-op treatment immediately. Can you confirm payment by Friday?”
I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white.
“Friday? I— I need more time.”
But there wasn’t any time left. After the call ended, I sank onto the marble floor in Arthur’s hallway. Ten minutes later, he found me there, his cane tapping quietly against the tile.
