Desperate.
— Daniel, stop.
Please.
Stop.
The man took one step back and said his name was Martín.
He spoke quickly, professionally, and held up an ID badge with shaking fingers.
Home infusion nurse.
Saint Vincent Oncology.
Elena started crying the moment she saw I was actually looking at the badge and not at his throat.
That was the first instant I understood that whatever I had expected, it was not this.
Martín asked Elena if she wanted him to leave.
She wiped her face, nodded, and asked for five minutes.
He capped the syringe, closed the case, and stepped
out into the hallway with the silent, practiced grace of someone who had seen families fracture in doorways before.
Then it was just me, my wife, and the sound of both our breathing breaking in different ways.
Elena pulled the blanket around herself like she was cold.
— I found a lump six weeks ago, she said.
— Right here.
Her fingers touched the place above her collarbone.
She told me she thought it was stress at first.
