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He called the billing office. He begged for answers. The receptionist slipped the tongue: she said “she.” A woman.
Mike persisted. He got a first name: Sarah.
He searched. He found three nurses named Sarah who had worked that day. One had transferred. Another was retired. The third was Sarah Patterson. My wife.
“I found her online,” he said. “Pictures of her with you. With your children. I recognized her immediately. She was the nurse who told me not to give up hope.”
He texted her. Once. Twice. Then a third. No response.
Then he found her obituary.
“I broke down,” he said. “The woman who saved my daughter was gone. And I never got a chance to thank her.”
So he began going to her grave. Every Saturday. To talk to her about Kaylee.
