I saw him for the last time outside the courthouse. He looked older. Not destroyed — men like Nathan rarely let themselves break in public. They shrink and call it dignity.

“You destroyed my life,” he said.

I adjusted my coat. “No. I checked in at reception.”

Then I walked past him.

Six months later, I returned to St. Catherine’s for a dedication ceremony. The surgical education wing had been renamed for a donor, but one lecture hall held a new bronze plaque: The Lily Monroe Patient Safety Forum.

Vanessa stood beside me, her blonde hair pinned back, the cream coat gone. She wore black — not mourning black, something sharper, deliberately chosen.