“She was the first person outside my family to hold Sophie.”
I looked at the picture again.
Emily looked happy.
So happy.
“She was?”
I’d spent years staring at the same images of her, afraid that I’d eventually forget the details of her face.
Now, here were moments from her life I’d never known.
Gianna continued.
“She used to tell me about you.”
“Me?”
“She said her dad was a surgeon who helped people through the worst days of their lives.”
“She used to tell me about you.”
I swallowed.
“She said that?”
“All the time.”
Gianna leaned forward.
“She was proud of you, Dr. Miller.”
Those words nearly broke me.
Emily and I had argued about my work before.
“She said that?”
I’d missed family dinners and birthdays.
She’d sometimes complained that I spent more time at the hospital than at home.
After her death, those missed moments haunted me.
