Chapter 11: Rule Three

Hazel's POV

I was discharged on Tuesday afternoon with an ice pack, a prescription and a baby who still had to stay behind.

Leaving her in that clear box was the hardest thing I had ever done with my hands.

The charge nurse promised to text me a photo every three hours.

She sent one before we reached the car.

By nine o'clock I was sitting at Ansel's kitchen table in one of his old sweatshirts.

He was making grilled cheese with great and serious care.

"I'm leaving in the morning," I said.

He did not turn around.

"Your week isn't up."

"The board complaint says you've been improper with me. If I'm gone by tomorrow, it's one more lie Otto told."

"And if you're gone by tomorrow, it's one more reason for the board to believe him."

"They'll take your license."

"They'll take a hearing," he said. "I've been a surgeon for twelve years."

"I've been investigated by better liars than your ex-fiancé."

He put the sandwich in front of me.

I did not touch it.

"Sit," I said.

"I am standing in my own kitchen."

"Ansel."

He sat.

For a moment we both looked at the plate.

"I need to say something," I said, "and I need you to let me finish."

He nodded.

"For seven months, I waited for you to come to my door."

He looked up.

"My sister died on your table."

"I sat alone in a condo while my family put me in the newspaper."

"You were the only person from that building who could have knocked."

"Hazel."

"You mailed an envelope. Five of them."

"I did," he said.

"You never once came."

His jaw moved.

"I came," he said quietly. "In March I drove to your condo and sat in the parking lot for two hours."

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