I looked at her.
The woman looked terrified to speak.
“For what?”
Her eyes filled.
“For being happy today.”
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That stopped me.
She shook her head.
That stopped me.
“I don’t know how else to say it. This is the worst day of your life, and we just got the call we’ve been praying for.”
I looked at the untouched coffee beside her.
Then at the way she kept twisting the hospital wristband around her fingers.
And I saw what Mary had seen.
I saw what Mary had seen.
Me… waiting for news that wouldn’t make me cry.
Hoping for miracles every single day.
“You’re allowed to be happy,” I said.
Ellen started crying.
I almost did too.
Hoping for miracles every single day.
“Mary wanted this.”
She covered her mouth.
“We didn’t know at first,” she said. “Sophie told us Mary had asked questions, but Jonathan made it very clear there were no promises.”
I glanced at him.
“Mary wanted this.”
“He told us not to build our hopes around it,” Mark added. “He said everything depended on the doctors.”
That sounded exactly like Jonathan.
Careful.
Practical.
Trying to carry something impossible without making it worse.
That sounded exactly like Jonathan.
“How close were they?” I asked.
Ellen smiled through her tears.
“Closer than either of us realized.”
She told me that once, a nurse had to separate them because they were laughing too loudly while other patients were sleeping.
That almost made me smile.
“How close were they?”
For the first time that day, someone was talking about Mary like she was still eighteen.
Not a donor.
Not a patient.
Just Mary.
“Mary talked about you all the time,” Ellen said.
someone was talking about Mary like she was still eighteen.
I looked at her.
“What did she say?”
“That you worried too much.”
I laughed despite myself.
“That sounds right.”
“That you pretended not to cry.”
“What did she say?”
My smile faded.
“And that whenever she was scared, she thought about going home with you.”
I looked down at Mary’s letter.
