Chapter 2

The next morning, Director Miller leaned against my office doorframe.

"The parents are here, Evelyn. They want a word."

I didn't look up from the chart. "I gave my answer yesterday."

"Just five minutes. They’re clogging up the VIP lounge, and the Board is breathing down my neck."

Crack.

The door pushed open before he finished.

A man and a woman walked in.

The man wore a dark overcoat, his temples touched with gray, his stride steady.

The woman had her arm linked through his—perfect makeup, the same air of pampered arrogance in her eyes.

Twenty years, and nothing had changed.

"Dr. Vance. I’m Thomas Sterling. This is my wife, Claire." He extended a hand across my desk.

They didn't know who I was.

I kept my hands on the desk.

Thomas drew his hand away, unembarrassed.

"Dr. Vance. We’re here about Sophie," he said. "We know the risks. We also know your reputation. Whatever the fee is, triple it."

Claire stepped forward, her arms crossed.

"New surgical suite. Research funding. Your name on the building," she said. "All yours. Just say yes."

How generous.

When they sent me away with nothing twenty years ago, they didn't even let me take a spare shirt.

I capped my fountain pen.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sterling are most generous," I said.

Thomas smiled. "If you'll save Sophie, these are nothing."

I held his gaze. "Mr. Sterling seems quite practiced. Do you often accept improper benefits?"

His smile froze.

Director Miller's face shifted. "Evelyn! Is that how you speak to a patient's family?"

"Evelyn?"

Thomas froze a second.

His eyes narrowed. He looked at my nameplate again, then at the way I held my shoulders.

Then his posture shifted. The blood left his lips.

Claire took a half-step back, her hand fluttering to the pearls at her neck.

Same nervous gesture. Twenty years later.

"No...no, it's impossible!"

"How could it be? You... you were supposed to be in another city. You were supposed to be..."

"Gone?" I finished.

The room went quiet. The only sound was the hum of the ventilation.

"Evelyn, look," Thomas spoke again, his voice dropping an octave.

"The past is a different country. We were young. Decisions were made in the heat of the moment—"

I cut him off.

"A unit of O-negative. That's what you took from me. And today was the price of your decision back then."

Bang!

Claire’s face turned a mottled red. She slammed her clutch onto my desk.

"So this is revenge? Letting a nineteen-year-old die for a twenty-year-old grudge?"

"I am a surgeon," I said. "I don't operate unless my hand is steady. Clinically, I'm not the right surgeon for this case."

"You’re a liar!" Claire shouted. "You’re a cold-blooded bitch who wants to see me suffer through my daughter!"

Thomas grabbed her elbow. "Claire, stop."

"No! Look at her! She’s enjoying this!" Claire pointed a shaking finger at me.

"I’ll go to the Medical Board! I’ll have your license! I’ll tell the press you’re refusing a dying girl!"

"Claire!" Thomas roared, then he turned to me.

"Evelyn, she speaks impulsively. Don't take it to heart."

How gentle.

It was the first time I'd ever heard Thomas speak to me in that tone.

He didn't move for a moment. He looked at me, searching for something in my face. Then he spoke.

"Let's come to an understanding. About Sophie. Name your price. I'll pay it."

"No." I answered.

He let out a sigh. "Evelyn, We used to be married, Evelyn. Doesn't that count for anything to you?"

Used to be?

A cold smirk touched my lips. That—that was the one decision I'd undo in a heartbeat—if I could.

"It counted for one unit of blood," I looked at him. "And you gave it away."

"The divorce papers. And the part where you said she was supposed to be your wife. Did that count?"