Chapter 4 - The Confession of a CowardThe fluorescent lights in Dr. Vance’s office buzzed with an irritating, high-pitched whine. I couldn't breathe. The air in the room felt thick, heavy with an accumulated weight of five years of blindness and two months of unforgivable arrogance.
"You can't let her do that!" I shouted, slamming my palm down onto the edge of the desk. The sound echoed off the sterile walls. "She's thirty-two years old! She can't just give up! You're her doctor—talk some sense into her!"
Dr. Vance didn't flinch. She simply looked at me with cold, professional disappointment.
"Mr. Cross, medical ethics require us to respect the autonomy of a competent adult," she said evenly. "Sophie is fully aware of her choices. She spent the last year watching a man she loved pull away from her, inch by inch, until he finally packed her bags and told her he wanted out. When someone believes they are completely unlovable, convincing them that life is worth fighting for requires more than a guilty ex-husband showing up in a hospital hallway."
The truth in her words carved straight through my defenses. I slumped down into the guest chair, burying my face in my trembling hands as dry, suffocating sobs wracked my chest.
"I didn't know," I whispered into my palms, the tears finally breaking free. "God help me, I didn't know. I thought she was just... cold. I thought she didn't care anymore. I was so wrapped up in my own pity about the babies we lost that I didn't see she was dying right in front of me."
"Grief makes people selfish, Ethan," Dr. Vance said, her tone softening just a fraction, using my first name for the first time. "It turns us inward. But ignorance doesn't erase responsibility. Sophie didn't ask for any of this. Neither did you. But right now, she is sitting forty feet down the hall, spending what very well might be her final week of life entirely alone, because you were too cowardly to look past your own front door."
I wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt, taking a ragged, shuddering breath. I stood up, my knees feeling weak and unstable.
"What do I need to do?" I asked, my voice steadying with a grim, desperate resolve.
Dr. Vance looked up, surprised by the sudden shift in my posture. "What?"
"What do I need to do to get her back on that list?" I demanded, leaning over her desk. "What papers do I need to sign? What doctors do I need to beg? If she thinks she has nothing left to fight for, then I'll give her a reason. I don't care about the divorce decree. Legally or illegally, she is still my wife in every way that matters."
Dr. Vance studied me for a long, silent moment, measuring my resolve. Finally, she slid a single business card across the desk, along with a printed form.
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"Talk to Dr. Henderson down in transplant ethics," she instructed, her voice firm. "And more importantly... talk to Sophie. Not with guilt, not with grand theatrical apologies, but with absolute truth. Because if you lie to her now, or if she thinks you're only staying out of pity, she will flatline within forty-eight hours purely from a broken spirit."
I grabbed the card and the form, turned on my heel, and walked out of the office without looking back.
