On the other end, Lauren’s voice was terrified.
“Michael, Connor fainted again at school.”
The color drained from Michael’s face.
“When?”
“Fifteen minutes ago. I’m taking him to the hospital now.”
Michael shot to his feet.
“I’ll be there immediately.”
He turned to me, desperation filling his eyes.
“Evelyn, please. I don’t know what to do.”
I stood, picked up the binder, and reached for my coat.
“Let’s go.”
Michael stared at me in disbelief.
“You’re coming?”
“I’m a nurse,” I said. “I know what needs to be prepared.”
During the drive to Metropolitan Hospital, Michael kept calling Lauren. His hands shook so badly that I finally told him to pull over and let me drive.
The rain came down hard against the windshield as the black SUV moved through afternoon traffic. Michael sat beside me, gripping his phone as though holding it tightly could keep his world from collapsing.
When we arrived, Lauren stood outside the emergency department.
Her face was deathly pale. Her eyes were swollen from crying.
The moment she saw me step out beside Michael, she froze.
“Evelyn?”
She took a step backward, as if she expected me to slap her, scream at her, or curse her in front of the hospital doors.
I did none of those things.
I was too tired for hatred.
“How is Connor?” I asked.
Lauren stared at me in confusion.
Maybe she had not expected that to be my first question.
“The doctors need to run more tests,” she said. “He’s awake now, but he’s weak.”
I handed her the binder.
“Give this to the doctor.”
Lauren took it with trembling hands.
Michael stood beside her, unable to meet my eyes.
A few minutes later, the consultation room door opened.
Dr. Carter stepped out.
He saw me first.
Then Michael.
Then Lauren.
Finally, his eyes settled on the two children sitting in the waiting area.
Connor was thirteen, thin and pale, with Michael’s eyes and a frightened expression he was trying to hide. His little sister, Emma, sat close beside him, clutching the sleeve of his hoodie.
Dr. Carter took a deep breath.
“We need to talk.”
Inside the consultation room, no one spoke at first.
Lauren held Michael’s hand so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Both of them looked as if they were barely breathing.
Dr. Carter opened the binder.
“I want to be very clear,” he said. “At this point, we cannot draw conclusions without testing. But because of the family medical history from the father’s side, both children need specialized genetic evaluation immediately.”
Lauren turned to Michael.
“You never told me about any of this.”
Michael lowered his head.
“I didn’t know,” he said. “I truly didn’t know.”
Lauren’s eyes filled with tears.
“You didn’t know? You’re their father. If something happens to Connor…”
She could not finish.
Michael buried his face in his hands.
For once, he had no excuse.
No defense.
No one else to blame.
Dr. Carter turned toward me.
“Evelyn, thank you for keeping these records. Without them, this evaluation would have taken much longer.”
Lauren looked at me.
Her face twisted with confusion and shame.
“Why are you helping us?” she whispered. “I’m the woman who took your husband. I destroyed your marriage. Why are you helping my children?”
I looked through the glass window at Connor and Emma.
Connor had his arm around his little sister. Emma watched him anxiously, as if her stare alone could keep him safe.
Then I turned back to Lauren.
“I’m not helping you,” I said. “I’m helping the children.”
Lauren broke down sobbing.
In that moment, jealousy and resentment seemed small compared with the terror of two children waiting outside a hospital room.
Later that evening, after the first round of tests, Dr. Carter stepped out again.
His expression was serious.
“The preliminary results show that Connor needs additional specialized testing.”
Lauren nearly collapsed.
Michael caught her.