Page 66 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

“He made it through surgery.”

Her shoulders collapsed as air rushed from her lungs.

“Thank God.”

“We found the source of the bleeding and stopped it. We also removed the blood that was putting pressure on his brain.”

“Is he awake?”

“Not yet. We’re keeping him sedated while we monitor the swelling. The next several hours are important.”

“Does he have brain damage?”

“I can’t answer that tonight. We need to let the sedation wear off and see how he responds. Right now, he’s stable.”

Tears moved down her cheeks.

“You saved him.”

“We stopped the immediate problem. His intensive care team will watch him closely through the night.”

She reached across the table and took my hand.

“Thank you.”

I covered hers briefly before standing. A family’s gratitude always carried more weight than they realized. They saw the surgeon walking out with good news. They didn’t see the uncertainty that followed us from the operating room or the cases that returned to us in the middle of the night.

“I’ll check on him again before I leave.”

She nodded and wiped her face.

Outside the consultation room, Dr. Patel waited with Mr. Dawson’s updated laboratory results.

“His hemoglobin is stable,” she said. “Pressure is coming down.”

“Good. Repeat imaging in four hours unless his examination changes. If anything concerns you, call me.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

I returned to my office and closed the door. The room had gone dark while I was in surgery. St. Louis glowed beyond the window, headlights moving below like streams of white and red light. My jacket still hung behind the door. The shirt I had planned to wear to dinner remained in the garment bag beside it. I lowered myself into my chair and checked my phone. Seven messages waited from Frankie. The first was a photograph of several restaurant containers spread across her dining-room table.

You sent enough food to feed my whole block.

The next picture showed a plate with salmon, roasted vegetables, potatoes, and macaroni and cheese.

Mama said if this is how you apologize, I’m not allowed to break up with you.

Another showed an empty dessert container.

She also ate most of my chocolate cake. I need you to remember this betrayal.

I laughed.

The fourth picture was of Malik. He sat at the table with macaroni and cheese on his plate and a smear of it near his mouth. His smile was wide; his hand lifted toward the camera. Warmth filled my chest.

Malik approved.

I enlarged the photograph. I had heard Frankie describe her son and had seen his image on her phone, but this was the first picture she had sent directly to me. It felt deliberate, like another door opening a few inches. The final messages had come nearly an hour ago.