Denise stepped in quickly, her calm voice attempting to stitch the meeting back together. “Let’s all take a breath. Mr. Thompson, we understand you’re in pain, but this isn’t the place for accusations. The lab reports confirm Dr. Tariq’s decision was both necessary and in accordance with hospital protocol.”
Her words barely registered. All I could hear was the echo of Khalifa’s—my wife.
He sank back into his seat slowly, his fingers finding mine again beneath the table. He laced our hands together, drawing them into his lap, his thumb tracing absent patterns over my knuckles, then gliding along the inside of my wrist, the centerof my palm. I didn’t look at him, but my skin prickled from the tenderness of it, every nerve suddenly wide awake.
Across from us, Mr. Thompson muttered something under his breath. His lawyer tugged at his sleeve, urging restraint, before speaking. “Given the...unfortunate outcome,” he said, avoiding my eyes, “my client is seeking damages and an official review of Dr. Tariq’s license.”
Denise stayed composed. “We’ve reviewed the chart, the labs, and the OR reports. There’s no indication of negligence. Placental abruption is unpredictable, and in this case, Dr. Tariq’s response was medically appropriate. If you push this to court, Mr. Thompson, you’ll lose. And I don’t think that’s something your family needs right now.”
His shoulders trembled. “You don’t understand,” he rasped. “She was fine that morning. She waslaughing. And now she’s gone.”
Ididunderstand, though. I’d spent every second of that day trying to stop time, trying to will the monitors to change, the bleeding to stop, the heartbeats to return. But death didn’t care how much you begged. It didn’t wait for you to be ready, or negotiate with grief. It just kept moving forward.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish I could bring her back. I wish that day had gone differently.”
He didn’t look at me again. Just stood, shook his lawyer’s hand, and left without another word.
Denise gathered her papers with careful efficiency. “We’ll file the report and close this out,” she said. “You won’t lose your license, Dr. Tariq.”
I nodded. My mouth moved to thank her, but no sound came out. When she left, it was just Khalifa and me in the conference room.
“You did everything you could,” he said finally.
I let out a breath that didn’t sound like a breath at all. “I know. I just keep wishing ‘everything’ had been enough.”
His gaze gentled. “You can’t save everyone, Lillian.”
“I’m a doctor,” I whispered. “That’s literally my job.”
“You’rehuman. That’s your reality.”
We stepped out of the building, the sky heavy and gray, the air smelling faintly of rain. Khalifa walked beside me, his hand brushing mine every few steps. When we were halfway to the car, he cursed softly. “My phone. I left it in the conference room.”
“Okay. I’ll wait in the car.”
I continued walking to our parking spot, his footsteps fading behind me. I unlocked my car, reached for the handle—
“Dr. Tariq.”
I turned, pulse hammering. Mr. Thompson stood in the half-light between two concrete pillars. His tie was loose, his face pale and tight.
“Mr. Thompson,” I said carefully. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I just want to talk.” His tone was off, flat, too calm.
“There’s nothing left to talk about. The meeting’s over.”
He laughed once. “You think this is over? You think you get to walk away after what you did?”
I swallowed hard. “I did everything I could for Jennie and your children. I’m sorry for your loss, but threatening me won’t bring them back.”
His expression twisted. “You don’t get to say her name. You people think you can come here and—”
“‘You people?’” I repeated, holding my ground. “God, you’re so pathetic. My beliefs don’t make me a bad doctor, but yours definitely make you aterribleperson.”
He stepped closer. “You killed her.”
I reached for the car door again, but he moved faster, his hand gripping my arm, hard enough to bruise.
