But that was Matt’s style, and she couldn’t complain too much. His Sunday dinners were masterpieces. And while she knew she’d be elbow-deep in suds later, scrubbing away at the aftermath, Dok couldn’t help but look forward to the meal that was about to be served. It was a ritual she secretly loved, even if it did require a lot of dish soap.
Wiping his hands on a towel, Matt settled into a chair across from her. “What have you learned so far?” His eyes scanned the files spread out on the table.
Yesterday, at the office, just before taking Annie on that disastrous car ride, Dok had stuffed the files into her briefcase to take home. Ever since Wren had told her about them, they’d kept nagging at her, so she decided to just dig in and see what she might discover about those women. She’d spent the afternoon studying them, piecing together the story of Finegold’s actions and the pharmaceutical company’s role. It was a mess, one that had left lasting scars on those women’s lives.
Matt was waiting for her response.
She looked up at him. “Sadly, Wren was right. These womendidn’t seem to know they were part of a clinical trial when they took the drug for postpartum depression. At least, they didn’t sign any kind of disclosure. I can see how it all unfolded. The pharmaceutical company approached Finegold with this trial drug. Three of his patients, who’d given birth recently, displayed evidence of PPD. All Amish women. Knowing Finegold, he wouldn’t have bothered explaining it was a trial drug because he assumed they wouldn’t understand. He was always at odds with the Amish, with how they handled illness and injury, birth and death. And of course, those three women, already ashamed about PPD, wouldn’t have asked many questions.”
“Why would they feel ashamed?”
“Postpartum depression isn’t common among Amish women. They would’ve felt judged. They probably judged themselves.”
Matt’s brow furrowed. “So what happened to them? Did the drug help?”
Dok leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. “Not at all. Pharmogen pulled the drug—it never made it to market. One woman left the Amish, so I don’t know her story. But the other two never had other children. Wren seems to think infertility was a side effect of the drug.”
Matt shook his head. “So what now?”
Dok shrugged. “The two who remained Amish have passed away. Finegold too. It’s a troubling story. These women were already vulnerable, struggling with postpartum depression in a culture that doesn’t really acknowledge or understand it. And then to be used in a trial without proper consent...” She sighed again, feeling the weight of the files and the stories they contained. “These women deserved better.”
“And Wren Baker just stumbled on this information?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Sort of remarkable. I mean, what are the odds?” He got up from the chair. “Sounds like something you’d uncover, fresh out of med school. Eager and hungry, just like Wren.” Matt leanedover to give her hand a squeeze. “Speaking of hunger, though ... dinner’s almost ready.”
“Got it. I’ll clear the table and set it for dinner.” As Dok closed the file, an unsettling feeling lingered. Something felt off.
Maybe it was because she saw so much of herself in Wren—ambitious and determined. If Dok had come across this kind of information as a resident, she would’ve pursued it with the same zeal Wren was showing. She understood that drive, that hunger for success. She’d always had an inner compulsion to make a contribution, to have something to offer this broken world.
Something still felt oddly out of place. Like Dok was missing something. What was behind Wren’s motive to succeed? She wasn’t quite sure.
Over dinner, Matt asked her why she felt so troubled about those files. “You can’t be held liable, right?”
“No. I’m not legally responsible ... but I do feel some concern. The descendants are my patients.”My people.
Matt forked his salad, thinking it over. “You know what you should do? Talk to David. See what he says.”
Kick the can down the road to David, was what he meant. Dok did that a lot.
Dok woke up in the middle of the night with a start. Whatwerethe odds? Matt was so right! What were the odds of Wren reading through those particular files, among hundreds of files, and stumbling on that information?
She slipped out of bed and padded quietly downstairs to the kitchen. Sitting at the table, she opened each file again, scanning the patient details with fresh eyes. Then, with a deep breath, she powered up her laptop and logged into the portal to review the residents’ applications. A little more digging, a few more clicks ... and there it was. Oh wow. Her eyes widened. Wow. Wow, wow, wow. She should’ve known.
