I went inside and closed the door behind me, pressing my back to it.
“What happened?” Luke asked, peeking out from the hallway.
“Kayla is… sick. But she’s going to be okay.”
My phone buzzed. I hesitated, then answered. “Vivian speaking.”
“Hi, Vivian. This is Dana, the transplant coordinator at Memorial Hospital. Kayla asked us to call you.”
My stomach twisted.
“She just left in an ambulance. I didn’t know what was happening. I found the photo and —”
“This is Dana, the transplant coordinator.”
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“She’s stable,” Dana reassured me. “She had a reaction to her pre-op meds. We were monitoring her from afar, but she had a personal safety plan in place.”
“The photo. It felt like… surveillance. I don’t understand. Kayla wanted to help us?”
“It wasn’t,” Dana replied. “That photo was from the hospital’s donor-awareness page for registered volunteers, from Kidney Kids Fun Day, remember? Luke’s image was included with your consent. Kayla found it after the match confirmation. I think she just wanted to see who she’d be sharing her body with.”
“She’s stable.”
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I closed my eyes. I remembered signing the consent form at Kidney Kids Fun Day when Luke was four.
I’d forgotten it existed. I’d let them take one photo. Just one.
In case seeing a child’s face helps a stranger decide to save him, I’d told myself.
I’d forgotten all about it. Until then.
***
Later at the hospital, Kayla looked smaller under the fluorescent lights.
She smiled when she saw me. “I’m sorry,” she rasped. “I didn’t want to scare you.”
I’d let them take one photo.
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“You didn’t,” I said. “You tried to help. I just… didn’t see it.”
“I didn’t want you to feel like you owed me,” she said. “I wanted your yes to be organic and true.”
I stared at her. “You nearly died.”
“I wanted to make sure Luke was okay,” she whispered. “He deserves to go to second grade. And snacks that don’t taste like disappointment.”
A laugh escaped me. My eyes stung.
“You nearly died.”
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