He looked toward the hallway, where my children had disappeared an hour ago.
“I hoped that when you needed them most,” he said, “they would stay.”
He paused.
“They didn’t.”
Then Malcolm pulled the first document halfway out of the folder.
I saw letterhead. VOSS ELDER LAW GROUP, PLLC. Bellevue, Washington.
I saw my name.
And one sentence, about halfway down the page, highlighted in bright yellow marker.
Before I could read it, Malcolm looked directly into my eyes.
“Adrienne,” he said. “The parking fee wasn’t the real reason they left.”
He handed me the page.
My reading glasses were in my purse, wherever my purse was. I held the paper at arm’s length and squinted.
It was a letter, dated two days earlier. It was addressed to the Health Information Management Department at my hospital. This hospital.
RE: Request for Medical Records and Capacity Evaluation, Patient Adrienne M. Davis.
