Lavender perfume.
Silver glasses.
A kind voice on the phone.
Mrs. Fleming, I know this process is hard. We’ll take good care of everything.
I had believed her.
“Why would she do it?” I asked.
“Money, perhaps. Loyalty to Connor. Pressure. We don’t know.”
I picked up the photo.
Something about her eyes made memory stir again.
“She knew me,” I said.
Kenneth frowned. “From the clinic.”
“No.” I shook my head slowly. “Before that.”
He waited.
I searched through years of faces. Hospital fundraisers. Medical school events. Fertility seminars. Charity panels. Waiting rooms. Conference badges.
Then it came to me.
“My mother,” I whispered.
Kenneth leaned forward. “What about her?”
“Dana worked for my mother’s oncologist years ago. Not as a nurse. Front desk, maybe billing. I remember because she sent flowers after my mother died.” I looked up. “Why would she later work at my fertility clinic?”
