When I pulled into the hospital parking lot, I had to sit in the car for a full minute before I trusted myself to walk.
What was I even doing here? What did I expect to find? What do you say to the living proof of a lie you didn’t know you’d been living?
The answer to all those questions was waiting for me inside.
I got out of the car.
The answer to all those questions was waiting for me inside.
She was sitting in a chair near the entrance, and she was watching the door like she’d been watching it all night.
She was thinner than her photos and pale. She looked like a patient.
When our eyes met, she stood slowly.
I stopped walking. We stared at each other in silence, but then she said something that stunned me.
“I’m here, in the hospital, because of him.”
She looked like a patient.
“What? What does that mean?”
She swallowed. “I have a heart condition. They think I’ve had it since birth.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s genetic.” She held my gaze. “It comes from a parent. I didn’t know who my father was. My mom told me it was a one-night thing. A bachelor party. She said he was engaged. That he chose his real life.”
“So, that’s when it happened.”
“What does that mean?”
Maya nodded. “Mom reached out to him once. He sent money. Then nothing. When I turned 23, she gave me his name. Mark. I didn’t contact him, not until last year, when I started getting really sick. I needed to know if there was any family medical history that could help me.”
“You spoke to him?”
“He answered. I told him who I was. He didn’t deny it.”
“What did he say?” I whispered.
“You spoke to him?”
“He said he was about to celebrate 24 years of marriage. That this would destroy everything.”
My fingers curled slowly into my palms.
“He asked if I was sure,” she continued. “I told him about the heart condition, that the doctors wanted my family’s medical history. He said it couldn’t be his problem. That he was young and drunk, and it was a mistake.”
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