It was a lie.
The next day, I followed him.
He went straight to the hospital.
I stayed at a distance, my heart pounding, until I heard his voice through a partially open door.
“I do not want to di3,” he said.
The doctor’s response was calm but firm. “Your heart is failing. Without surgery, you may not have much time.”
Everything inside me went still.
I stepped into the room.
Graham looked up, his face draining of color.
“Harriet…”
“You are dying?” I asked.
He nodded.
“How long have you known?”
“Since that night,” he said quietly.
