But I whispered, “It doesn’t matter if he trusts me. What matters is that she heals.”
Even as the words left my mouth, a weight pressed on my chest. He knew me only as Dr. Lean, a physician he had allowed near his daughter. For him to question that—to think my treatment might not be enough on its own—felt like a quiet blow. I wondered if he doubted my methods, if every decision I made would now be measured against another’s hands.
But then Myra’s face rose in my mind: her brave chin lifted even when pain made her wince, the way she had smiled at me through tears when I pressed my hand over her knee. That was enough to silence the part of me that wanted to scream. She trusted me completely. If she could, I could bear this.
Clara ’s mouth fell open. “You can’t be serious.”
I looked at he
