David offered to take a day off from accounting.

“Mom, I’ll be right there. First face you see.”

Sarah promised my favorite yellow roses. “I’ll make the room pretty for you.”

Michael promised to arrive after his morning sales calls. “Wouldn’t miss it, Ma.” Thirty-two dollars had been enough to send them away. I turned toward the window as tears ran into my ear and pillow, setting my heart monitor beeping faster.

“Mrs. Davis,” Kayla said, grabbing a tissue box off the counter. “Please. Try not to upset yourself. Your heart needs to rest.” Her worry worsened my tears. At sixty-four, I had largely raised three children alone after Frank’s death, working thirty-one years as a Seattle public-school secretary and paying for braces, college applications, cars, and a wedding. Now I wept after heart-valve surgery because my children thought another day’s parking cost too much.

I heard deliberate footsteps outside. A tall stranger in a dark suit appeared, short salt-and-pepper hair above wire-rimmed glasses, briefcase in hand. He stood with quiet authority, and Kayla immediately straightened, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His voice, when he spoke, was gentle and deep.

“Excuse me,” he said. His tone was low and kind. “Is this Adrienne Davis?”

I wiped my tear-streaked face, conscious of my reddened eyes, flattened hair, and gown.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s me.”

Chapter Two: The Lunch Card

Approaching my bed, he softened visibly.