I showed up at the hospital to surprise my husband during his shift. But the second one of his coworkers saw me, all the color left his face. Then his eyes filled with tears. “He hasn’t said a word to you, has he?” Ben and I had been married eleven years, and for every one of those years, I had shared him with the hospital. He was a remarkably gifted surgeon.

CONSULTATION ROOM — PRIVATE.

I stopped right in the doorway, remembering how Brian had described these soundproofed rooms to me years earlier.

They had dim lighting, soft armchairs, and boxes of tissues on every glass table, so that doctors could break devastating news in complete privacy.

“Did Brian collapse, Paul?

Tell me right now if my husband’s been hurt.”

“No, Hannah, he isn’t physically hurt, but you need to sit down in that armchair before we talk.”

I stayed on my feet in the middle of the carpet, clutching that lunch bag against my ribs like a shield.