Since she’d received her DNA results, she’d sought to address her birthday mix-up in the way that had always served her best: with logic. Logically she knewshewasn’t the mistake.
Emotionally, that was a little harder to internalize. Across her early childhood years, she’d always felt that she didn’t fit. She’d come to accept and even own that fact. But now evidence proved that she was more than simply someone who didn’t fit. She was, without a doubt, a tremendous oddity. She’d been switched at birth when no one else she’d met or was likely to meet in her lifetime had been switched at birth.
Some things might have gone wrong on that day, but you weren’t one of them.
A heated ball glowed in the vicinity of her heart.
Glancing up, she discovered Dylan watching her smugly. “Is that from Dr. Grant?”
“Yes.”
“The guy you don’t have a crush on?”
“Correct.” She shut herself into the bathroom and tried on the necklace. The chain fell to just the right length.
She dialed Sebastian’s number.
Her call went to voice mail.
He was no doubt busy rescuing a sick child from the jaws of death.
Sebastian was going to have to take Isabella Ackerman off the heart transplant list.
Her parents, Megan and Timothy, waited nearby while he finished his examination. Megan looked like a thinner, harder version of the woman he’d first met. Timothy was as stocky and bearded as before. But his posture had started to stoop. Their expressions pleaded with Sebastian to say that he could make their daughter well.
He hated this part of his job. “Isabella has developed sepsis,” he informed them. Last week, one of his colleague’s patients had become septic and died within twenty-four hours.
Megan anxiously tucked her hair behind her ears. “How are you going to treat it?”
“Antibiotics. Additional medications for her blood pressure and cardiac function. Increased ventilation.”
“How long do you think it will take until she’s better?” Timothy asked.
“I don’t know.” There was no guarantee of “better” for Isabella. Her small body might have endured all it could take, in which case this would be the final blow. If she did recover, “better” for her would mean she’d still be so sick that she’d need this Pediatric Intensive Care Unit to keep her alive.
“Here’s what I can tell you for sure,” Sebastian said. “Those of us on staff are committed to doing everything we can to help her.” It made him furious that the best care and the best science couldn’t save them all.
“Can she remain on the transplant list?” Megan asked.
“I’m afraid that I’m going to have to remove her from the list. For now.”
Their faces fell. They knew that removing Isabella from the list meant removing her shot at survival.
“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said.
Weighted silence answered.
Isabella fidgeted.
Megan pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead, then took hold of her daughter’s hand. “I’m worried she’s uncomfortable.”
“She’s comfortable,” Sebastian said. “We wouldn’t allow her to be otherwise.” Not many years ago, children like Isabella had simply been protected from pain with palliative care until they died, a few days after their birth, in their parents’ arms.
Treatments had come a long way in a short time, and now parents almost always chose to intervene surgically. Even when the odds weren’t in their favor, they were willing to try a Hail Mary pass to give their child a chance at life.
“Several of our family members are coming by to visit her later today,” Megan said. “Do you hear that, sweetheart? A whole group of people who love you are on their way. They’ve met you, but they can’t wait for you to meet them.”
He saw it all the time—large interconnected families, hanging on every breath of their newest, youngest, sickest member. They crowded into waiting rooms during surgery. Filled sections of the cafeteria and lobby. They often brought balloons, stuffed animals, cookies.
