Rebecca and I dated when we were twenty-one.
We ended badly.
Three months later, she disappeared.
Her mother told me Rebecca had moved overseas and wanted no contact.
I believed her.
I was stupid enough to believe her for seventeen years.
Six weeks ago, Rebecca contacted me.
She told me we had a son.
His name is Noah.
And he is sick.
PART 4
I stopped reading.
“His organs.”
Dr. Hayes nodded carefully.
“Mark hoped that if donation became medically appropriate after his
death, lawful transplant procedures might help someone. Noah’s illness
was part of what made the issue intensely personal for him.”
“Was Mark trying to donate directly to Noah?”
“It is not that simple.”
The doctor’s tone became firm.
“Organ allocation and transplantation follow medical and legal rules.
Mark could not privately assign whatever he wanted after death.”
That mattered.
Even in grief, I understood it.
This was not some secret exchange arranged in a hospital basement.
