Vega reached into the folder and removed a single sheet.
“I spoke with the clinic physician,” he continued.
“He wants your oncology records before signing off.”
“I can get them.”
“You already did.”
I frowned.
He turned the page toward me.
At the bottom was a signature I recognized immediately.
Dr.
Elena Mercer.
My mother went very still.
The room seemed to contract around the name.
I stared at the signature.
My mother’s name.
My mother’s handwriting.
“What is this?”
I asked.
She reached for the paper, but Vega got there first.
“It was in the medical packet you submitted at intake,” he said.
“Your surgeon’s office sent an amended report this morning.”
My eyes moved to the line beneath the signature.
Patient is medically cleared for unrestricted training, provided she completes follow-up imaging scheduled for—
I stopped reading.
The date was circled in red.
It was tomorrow.
My mother’s face had lost all color.
“Rowan,” she whispered.
I looked at her.
“What follow-up imaging?”
She did not answer.
Vega looked from the report to my mother.
“Ma’am?”
My mother’s hand began to tremble.
The medic had said there was no recurrence.
No emergency.
