Page 306 of Mario

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He has known me too long to waste time.

“She is in good health,” he says. “Her blood pressure is a little elevated, which is expected after what happened, but nothing that concerns me at the moment. No sign of injury beyond minor bruising on her arm where she was grabbed.”

My fingers curl.

The doctor sees it and continues before I can speak.

“She is unharmed, Mario.”

Unharmed.

I take the word in and do not let myself react to it.

“She is shaken,” he says. “Very much so. She needs rest. Quiet. Give her fluids and make her eat. She does not need to be questioned tonight.”

My eyes narrow.

He simply holds my gaze and doesn't turn away.

“I mean it,” he says. “Tomorrow is soon enough.”

As if I intended to interrogate her.

But I simply ask, “And?”

Dr. Santoro’s expression changes.

It’s only for a brief moment, but I have spent my life watching the microexpressions of others.

It was enough. My chest tightens.

“And what?” he says.

I take one step toward him. “Do not do that.”

He sighs, but there is no fear in it. Only patience.

I have had enough of patience today.

“She is my patient,” he says in response.

“She is in my house.”

“Those things do not conflict.”

My jaw locks.

For a second, the old rules rise in me. The ones that say every answer belongs to me because I have the power to demand it. The ones that do not care about a closed door, a patient, a woman’s privacy, or the fact that the woman in that room has already had too much taken from her today.

But those are my father's rules, and they have no place here today.

It costs me, but I force it down.

The doctor watches me do it.

Then he smiles softly.

“You should go in,” he says. “Talk to her.”

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