“Possible.”
“Grandma?”
“She would’ve told me.”
Hailey watched me cross off another name. “What if you’re asking the wrong question?”
I looked up. “What question should I be asking?”
Who knew about your diagnosis that early.
“Not who has that kind of money.” She shrugged. “Who cared enough to keep looking for years?”
My pen stopped.
There weren’t many names left on the page.
***
Three days later, Germany confirmed Hailey could travel for final screening.
Dr. Carter handed me a folder. “Consent forms, medical summaries, travel information.”
What if you’re asking the wrong question?
I flipped through it at his desk. “Who booked the apartment?”
“The research coordinator handled most logistics.”
“Most?”
He gave me a warning look.
I kept reading.
Germany confirmed Hailey could travel.
Then I saw a page titled EMERGENCY AND FUNDING CONTACT.
A black bar covered most of the line.
But whoever had redacted the document had missed one field.
First name: Ethan.
My fingers went numb.
“E-E-E…”
EMERGENCY AND FUNDING CONTACT.
Hailey looked up. “Mom?”
I pointed at the page.
Dr. Carter’s face told me everything before he spoke. “I’m sorry.”
“Ethan?”
He exhaled. “Yes.”
Ethan.
I pushed back from the desk so hard my chair struck the wall.
