On the twenty-eighth day of our divorce waiting period, I got a call from an unknown number.
I answered, and it was Rola.
The soft tone she'd had that night was gone. Her voice was weak and ragged.
"Nellie, can you come to the hospital? Gideon... he got into an accident."
I stood in the kitchen, phone to my ear, while the soup I'd made for my post-surgery recovery bubbled on the stove.
I stayed silent for three beats before saying, "That's none of my business."
"Please, Nellie." She suddenly burst into tears. "He fell down the stairs and broke his leg. He's refusing surgery. He says he has to see you first. He swears there's something he needs to tell you in person. Otherwise, he won't let the doctors operate. They said if he waits any longer, the bone could shift out of place."
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