After Sergio left, he came back for his forgotten phone. He saw me, and froze.
“Dr. Torres?”
He’d been my patient’s father. “You operated on my son. Daniel. He was ten. The team said he wouldn’t survive the night. He’s alive, Doctor. Twenty-three now. Final year of medical school. He wants to be a trauma surgeon. Just like you.
I’ve spent thirteen years wishing I could find you to say thank you.”
When Sergio left, Alan whirled on me — furious not that he’d been exposed as a liar, but that I’d let his boss see me.
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