Mark
I didn't sleep that night. I sat in my kitchen until nearly four in the morning, staring at a cold cup of coffee, replaying every second of Claire's face crumbling in on itself, every second of Sophia looking at me on that porch like she needed to be anywhere except near the mess we'd made together.
Peter showed up at my door at seven, unannounced, holding two coffees and wearing the particular expression he reserved for situations he already knew were bad before he'd heard a single detail.
"You look terrible," he said, stepping past me into the house without waiting for an invitation. "Claire called Daniel's sister last night, apparently, who happens to be married to one of our anesthesiologists. Word travels fast in this hospital, Mark. What happened?"
I told him everything, sit
