“Dr. Miller? Were you the one who operated on the little girl after the accident yesterday?”
I swallowed nervously.
“Yes.”
Someone knocked on my door.
He let out a relieved breath, his shoulders dropping.
“My name’s Sebastian,” the man explained. “I’m the director of a family support organization.”
I looked toward his car.
“How did you find my address?”
“Your daughter worked with our organization. Years ago, you sent us a memorial donation after she passed away. We still had your mailing address.”
He let out a relieved breath.
My chest tightened.
“You knew Emily?”
“Very well.”
I frowned.
“Why are you here?”
“Because someone wants to tell you what your daughter did for her.”
I stared at him.
“You knew Emily?”
“Who?”
“Gianna. Sophie’s mother.”
That surprised me.
“Why couldn’t she call?”
“She thought you’d understand better if you saw something first.”
I hesitated.
“Where are we going?”
“To our community center. It’s about 15 minutes away.”
