"No."
"Emergency?"
"I don't know."
Ethan stepped forward.
"She was sick."
The receptionist softened.
"What's your relationship to her?"
Ethan hesitated.
"My mom."
The receptionist glanced at Michael.
"Is he your father?"
Ethan looked at Michael.
"I don't know."
The receptionist's expression changed.
She called another nurse.
A few minutes later, a nurse approached.
"Claire Bennett?"
Ethan nodded.
The nurse crouched.
"Are you Ethan?"
"Yes."
"Your mother gave us instructions earlier."
Michael felt his heart pound.
"Is she here?"
The nurse looked at him.
"Are you Michael Rourke?"
Michael stopped.
"Yes."
The nurse exhaled.
"Then we need to talk."
She led them into a small consultation room.
Ethan sat beside Lily.
Michael remained standing.
"Your friend Claire was admitted this morning," the nurse said.
"How is she?"
"She's stable."
Michael closed his eyes briefly.
Stable.
The most beautiful word he had heard all afternoon.
"What happened?"
"She came in for treatment related to an autoimmune condition. She's been dealing with it for some time."
Michael looked at Ethan.
The boy was watching him.
"Can I see her?"
"Not yet. She's resting."
Michael nodded.
"Did she know Ethan was alone?"
The nurse looked uncomfortable.
"She was worried."
"What did she say?"
"She asked us to contact someone."
"Who?"
The nurse looked directly at him.
"You."
Michael's throat tightened.
"She left your name as an emergency contact."
Michael stared.
"But she never called me."
"No."
"Why?"
The nurse didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
The question belonged to Claire.
The nurse left.
Michael sat.
Lily climbed into the chair beside him.
"Is she going to be okay?"
"I think so."
"You don't sound sure."
Michael smiled faintly.
"I'm trying to be honest."
Lily nodded.
Ethan said nothing.
After a while, he whispered:
"She knew you would come."
Michael looked at him.
"What?"
"She said you would."
"She told you that?"
"Not exactly."
Ethan pulled the photograph from his pocket.
"She said that if something happened and I ever met you, I shouldn't be afraid."
Michael stared at the photograph.
"Why didn't she tell me?"
Ethan shrugged.
"Maybe she was scared."
Michael leaned back.
Eleven years earlier, he remembered Claire as someone who feared very little.
She had been twenty-six.
He had been thirty.
They met at a conference in Milwaukee.
Michael had been representing a client.
Claire had been working for a nonprofit organization.
They met over a broken coffee machine.
She had laughed at him when he tried to fix it.
"You lawyers think you can fix everything."
"I'm not a lawyer."
"You look like one."
"What does a lawyer look like?"
"Exactly like you."
She had smiled.
He had fallen for her slowly.
Then all at once.
Four months later, Michael had received an offer in Chicago.
Claire had accepted a position overseas.
They had promised to stay in touch.
They hadn't.
There had been one final night.
One final conversation.
One unanswered email.
Then silence.
Michael had wondered about her many times.
But never imagined this.
The door opened.
A doctor stepped inside.
"Mr. Rourke?"
"Yes."
"I'm Dr. Helen Ward."
She sat across from him.
"Claire is awake."
Michael stood.
"Can I see her?"
The doctor nodded.
"She specifically asked for you."
Michael looked at Ethan.
"Can he come?"
"Not yet."
Ethan's face fell.
Michael crouched beside him.
"I'll go talk to your mom. I'll come back."
"You promise?"
Michael hesitated.
Then he understood the weight of the word.
"I promise."
Ethan nodded.
Michael followed the doctor down the hallway.
Claire was in a private room.
She looked different.
Thinner.
Paler.
Older.
But it was her.
The same dark hair.
The same eyes.
The same small crease beside her mouth when she was worried.
She looked toward the door.
When she saw Michael, she began to cry.
Not loudly.
Just tears.
Michael stood frozen.
"Hi, Michael."
He swallowed.
"Hi, Claire."
Neither moved.
Eleven years collapsed between them.
"You came."
"You knew I would."
She looked down.
"I hoped."
Michael pulled a chair closer.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Claire closed her eyes.
"I tried."
"How?"
"I wrote letters."
"I never received them."
"I know."
Michael frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Claire opened her eyes.
"My father intercepted them."
Michael went silent.
"What?"
"He hated you."
"Why?"
"Because he believed I was throwing my future away."
Claire laughed bitterly.
"He thought you were irresponsible. He thought I was stupid. He thought Ethan would ruin my career."
Michael stared.
"And you listened?"
"No."
"Then why?"
Claire's eyes filled again.
"Because by the time I realized I was pregnant, you had already moved. Your firm had transferred you. I didn't know where you were."
"I had the same phone number."
"I lost mine."
"You could have found me."
"I tried."
Michael's anger began to rise.
"Claire—"
"I know."
She looked at him.
"I know what it sounds like."
Michael sat back.
"What happened to the letters?"
"I don't know."
"Your father?"
"I don't know."