Chapter 5
I frowned involuntarily and leaned quietly against the wall.
The voices inside continued.
“Don’t worry, I just did a quick check. Her heart seems fine.”
“You shouldn’t overstress, but you’ll need to explain things to her. eventually.”
Not catching the response, I heard the call end and walked away.
Standing by the window, my mind churned. What were they discussing? Why couldn’t I understand any of it?
“Why come to the hospital without telling me?”
“Feeling unwell?”
Patrick’s gentle voice suddenly came from behind as his hand clasped
mine.
I adjusted my expression. “Just wanted to surprise you.”
“Got here early, so I waited outside.”
Patrick led me toward his office. “How long has the headache lasted?”
“Why keep it from me?”
I shrugged. “It’s fine. The doctor said stress
auses it. Rest helps.”
His fingers pressed lightly on my temples. “Here? Or here?”
Chapter 5
Seeing his concerned gaze, my nose stung. “Gone now. Really.”
Patrick thoughtfully ruffled my hair. “Always tell me first if you feel ill. I am a doctor.”
“Okay.”
After lunch, Patrick returned to work. He watched my car leave before reentering the hospital.
I planned to question him that evening, but my hand moved on its own toward his door. The fingerprint lock recognized me with a beep.
Hesitating, I stepped inside. Though familiar, I scanned the spotless room. Everything stood meticulously arranged.
In his bedroom, I sat at his desk, eyeing a locked drawer.
Their earlier conversation echoed as I tried codes. Not his birthday. Not mine. Not our anniversary date.
Staring at the lock, my fingers moved again.
Lock opened.
Why my surgery date?
Hands trembling, I pulled out a folder.
My medical records lay on top–vitals, heart transplant consent form, even the older donor search notice.
But these were from a year ago. Why did Patrick have them?
Breath held, I flipped further down. A photograph slipped out–a woman with a radiant smile. Who was she?
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Chapter 5
Beneath it lay an organ donation agreement bearing a beautiful name: Dorothy Carter.
“Dorothy…” I whispered, turning more pages.
Dorothy’s documents filled the stack. At the bottom, a cemetery plot purchase contract carried her name.
The buyer’s signature froze me on the spot.
Patrick.
The only photo of Dorothy lay quietly on the floor, smiling up at me.
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