"I have to avoid conflicts of interest because I'm family, but she can get personally involved with strangers? How noble."
I scoffed.
Mom had saved plenty of charity cases over the years, but Max Dickerson was her pet project. To him, she was Dr. Henson—the saint with golden hands, the "Most Beautiful Doctor" lauded by the media.
To me, she was barely a mother at all.
A heart only has so much room. When it's packed full of patients, what space is left for family?
"Your mom is just doing her job," Uncle Richard stammered. "You're her flesh and blood; you should understand her better than anyone..."
A sharp spasm seized my chest. I fumbled for the pill bottle in my pocket, dry-swallowing two tablets before the pain could floor me.
"Uncle Richard, do you know why Mom banned me from her department?"
"Why?"
"Because she's terrified of gossip. Scared people will say she's using her position for personal gain, or that she favors her own child." I steadied my breath. "That's why my records are at a different hospital. My own attending physician doesn't even know I'm Paige Henson's daughter."
"She performed Max Dickerson's surgery herself. She is personally monitoring every single one of his post-op labs." My voice trembled. "You tell me, Uncle Richard—who is her real child?"
Silence. Just his heavy breathing on the other end.
Finally, he sighed. "Don't say that, Sam. In your mom's heart, you are—"
"Where?" I cut him off. "Where is my place in her heart? Which page of the transplant list am I on? Which bed number do I occupy during her daily rounds?"
My knuckles went white around the phone. "I am her daughter, yet I don't even qualify for fair medical treatment. If being someone else's kid means getting backdoor access to life-saving organs, then I'd rather cut ties with this family completely."
A shuffle on the line. The breathing pattern changed.
Mom. She'd been listening the whole time.
"Samantha." Sharp. Professional. "Can't you look at the bigger picture? That Dickerson boy... he couldn't wait any longer."
"And what about me?" I laughed—hollow, broken. "How much longer can I wait? One year? Two? Five?"
"You need to understand—"
"You know the statistics better than anyone," I snapped. "Average wait time for a heart is 3.8 years. I've been waiting for twelve."