Renata reached the hospital after dark.

I heard her before I saw her, arguing politely with someone at the nurses’ station about the visiting hours.

A moment later she appeared in the doorway carrying a canvas overnight bag and wearing the same denim jacket she had owned since college.

She stopped when she saw me.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

I had planned to reassure her, to say I was all right and make a joke about her long drive.

Instead, I held out my hand.