“Family support?” I asked.
The social worker gave a dry laugh. “Not exactly.”
“What happened?”
“Stroke?”
She leaned against the counter. “Wife dropped him at the hospital entrance and drove off.”
“Seriously?”
“Filed for divorce that morning. Apparently, she told the intake nurse she’s too young to be a caretaker.”
Something cold slid down my spine. The words felt strangely familiar.
“Do we have background information?” I asked quietly.
She handed me the chart. “Not much family listed.”
“Wife dropped him at the hospital entrance and drove off.”
I opened the folder.
When I saw the patient’s name and birth date, my hands froze.
The room suddenly felt too small.
Because the name on the chart was one I hadn’t spoken to in years.
***
I stood outside Room 304 for a moment before pushing it open.
The man lying there looked older, with gray hair and sunken cheeks.
