A dangerous idea began to form, a spark that caught into an inferno.

I closed my laptop and replied. Let’s meet tomorrow. 2 PM. The Gilded Spoon.

The Gilded Spoon was a pretentious café downtown, exactly the kind of place Thomas would feel at home.

I arrived early in a simple blouse and slacks, my stethoscope tucked into my tote bag — a private reminder of who I’d become.

At two o’clock he walked in, older, the gray at his temples styled to look distinguished, in a sharp navy suit with a small campaign pin on the lapel.

When he saw me he launched into a masterful performance of the teary-eyed, overwhelmed father, rushing over with his arms out.