The name almost dropped me to my knees. Lisa. The woman with the swollen eye and the cradled arm, the one whose boyfriend had hovered like a predator, answering every question for her. The one I'd tried so hard to help, who'd left against medical advice because she was more afraid of what would happen later than what was happening then.
"I remember her," I said quietly.
"Ms. Harris was found deceased in her apartment two days ago," Sarah continued, her voice gentle but relentless. "The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head, consistent with repeated blows. Her boyfriend, a Ronald Lawfer, has been arrested and charged with second-degree murder."
The room seemed to tilt sideways. I gripped the edge of the table, trying to process what she was saying. Lisa was dead. The woman I'd tried to save, the one who'd looked at me with such desperate hope when I'd offered her resources and safety planning, was dead.
"The district attorney's office is building their case," Sarah went on. "They want to establish a pattern of escalating violence, and your interactions with Ms. Harris on the night she was here are part of that timeline. You'll likely be called to testify about her injuries, her demeanor, and any statements she made about her home situation."
I nodded numbly, though I wasn't really hearing her anymore. All I could see was Lisa's face, the way she'd flinched when her boyfriend touched her shoulder, the quiet desperationin her voice when she'd whispered, "I don't have anywhere else to go."
"Mr. Dalton? Are you alright?"
I looked up to find Sarah watching me with concern. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I asked if you have any questions about the legal process. The subpoena is fairly straightforward — you'll be asked to testify about what you observed and documented during her visit."
"I tried to help her," I said, the words coming out hoarse. "I gave her resources, safety planning information. I tried to convince her to stay, to let us call someone for her."
"I'm sure you did everything you could," Sarah said softly. "This isn't about your care, Mr. Dalton. By all accounts, you followed protocol perfectly. The documentation in her chart shows you provided appropriate resources and education. Sometimes... sometimes the system fails, despite everyone doing their job correctly."
But I wasn't listening to her reassurances. I was back in that room with Lisa, seeing the hope in her eyes when I'd promised to help her find somewhere safe to go. I'd convinced her to trust me, to believe that there were people who could protect her, that she didn't have to face this alone.
And then she'd walked out of the hospital and back to the man who killed her.
"Did she... did she ever use any of the resources I gave her?" I asked.
Sarah consulted her notes. "The victim's advocate tried to contact her the next day, but the phone number was disconnected. There's no record of her reaching out to any of the domestic violence services in the area."
The phone number was disconnected. Of course it was. He'd probably taken her phone away the moment they got home, another layer of control and isolation. I'd sent her backinto that nightmare with nothing but a business card and my empty promises of safety.
"Mr. Dalton, I want to be very clear about something," Sarah said, leaning forward slightly. "Nothing about Ms. Harris’ death reflects poorly on your care or judgment. You did everything protocol requires, and more. Her decision to leave against medical advice was her choice to make, not yours to prevent."
"But I could have — "
"Could have what?" Sarah's voice was firm. "Held her against her will? That would have been illegal. Called the police? They can't arrest someone for being a victim. The sad reality is that leaving an abusive relationship is the most dangerous time for a victim. Statistics show that seventy-five percent of domestic violence homicides occur when the victim is attempting to leave or has recently left their abuser."
The statistics felt like stones in my stomach. I'd known them, of course — they were part of every domestic violence training I'd ever attended. But knowing them intellectually was different from living them, from looking into the eyes of someone who would become part of that statistic.
"The DA will likely ask you about your observations of the relationship dynamic," Sarah continued. "Mr. Laufer's behavior in the emergency department, any controlling behaviors you witnessed, Ms. Harris’ demeanor and responses. Your testimony will help establish the pattern of abuse that led to her death."
I thought about Ron Laufer — the way he'd answered every question directed at Lisa, the proprietary hand on her shoulder, the cold calculation in his eyes when he'd sized me up as a potential threat. I'd wanted him to hit me, wanted him to give me a reason to escalate the situation, to force some kind of intervention.
But he'd been too smart for that. Too controlled. He'dknown exactly how to play the system, how to walk the line between suspicious and actionable.
"When will I need to testify?" I asked.
"The trial isn't expected to begin for several months. You'll receive formal notice with plenty of advance warning." Sarah gathered her papers, signaling that the meeting was winding down. "Mr. Dalton, I know this is difficult news. If you need to speak with someone — the hospital has employee assistance programs, counseling resources..."
I shook my head, standing up on legs that felt unsteady. "I'm fine. Thank you for letting me know."
But I wasn't fine. I was the opposite of fine. I was a man who spent his nights trying to heal people, to protect them, to be their advocate when they were at their most vulnerable. And I had failed completely and utterly.
The walk back to my car was a blur. I sat in the driver's seat for a long time, staring at the steering wheel, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Three weeks ago, I'd held Lisa's hand and promised her that there were people who could help, that she didn't have to be afraid anymore.
Three weeks ago, I'd been naive enough to believe that caring was enough. That good intentions and proper protocol could save someone from a system designed to fail them.
My phone buzzed with a text from Izzy:
