Mark
Peter caught me in the surgeons' lounge the next afternoon, both of us running on almost no sleep, nursing coffee that had gone lukewarm an hour ago and neither of us had the energy to reheat.
"So," he said, dropping into the chair across from me. "Sophia."
"Don't."
"I'm not going to tease you. I actually want to talk about it." He studied me over the rim of his cup, more serious than I was used to seeing him outside of an operating room. "I saw her in that waiting room at three in the morning, Mark. In a gala dress. Heels in her hand by the time I checked on her the second time, feet clearly killing her, hours after everyone else who came to that fundraiser had gone home to sleep. She didn't leave."
"I know."
"Do you know what that means?"
I set my own coffee down, rubbing a h
