I set the chart on the counter because my hands had begun to tremble. “This is not the place.”

“Eight?”

I said nothing.

He pressed his palm against the edge of the examination table, as if the room had tilted. “She’s eight years old.”

“You came here because of chest pain,” I said. “You need blood work, cardiac monitoring, and another EKG. Whatever questions you have can wait.”

“I have spent eight years looking for you.”