Daniel stood so quickly his chair flipped backward.
The doctor looked exhausted.
“The babies are stable. Your wife is still critical.”
Daniel’s mouth opened.
No sound came out.
“We’ve controlled part of the bleeding,” the doctor continued, “but her blood pressure keeps dropping. We’re taking her back in.”
I grabbed Daniel’s arm.
“Can we see her?”
“Not yet.”
“Is she going to die?”
The surgeon hesitated.
That hesitation answered the question.
“We’re doing everything we can.”
Then he disappeared.
Daniel sat down.
He pressed both hands against his face.
For several seconds, he didn’t move.
Then he said, “She made me promise.”
I turned toward him.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“If this went bad, she made me promise I’d finally tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Daniel glanced toward the elevators.
My parents were driving in from their home ninety minutes away.
He stood.
“Not here.”
He led me to an empty corridor beside the hospital chapel.
“Daniel, you’re scaring me.”
“I know.”
“Then talk.”
He reached inside the jacket he had thrown over his scrubs.
That was when he pulled out the envelope.
“I’ve carried copies of these papers for four years.”
