Maybe she had mistaken another man for David.
Or maybe something was happening that I didn’t yet understand.
The following morning, my doctor told me I was strong enough to walk farther down the hallway.
So I put on my robe, slipped my feet into hospital slippers, gripped my walker, and slowly made my way toward the elevators.
I had almost reached the curve in the corridor when the elevator doors opened.
And David stepped out.
He was holding flowers.
For half a second, I felt relieved.
There he was.
My husband.
He had surprised me.
I opened my mouth to call his name.
Then he turned.
And walked away from my room.
I stopped.
David didn’t hesitate.
He didn’t look confused.
He moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was going.
My first instinct was to believe there had to be an innocent explanation.
Maybe he was visiting a client.
A friend.
Someone from work.
Perhaps he had simply planned to see them before coming to me.
But then I remembered the nurse.
He comes every day.
I followed him.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Pushing the walker ahead of me while he disappeared farther down the corridor.
At the end of the hallway, he turned.
Then he walked through a set of doors.
I stopped when I saw the sign.
MATERNITY.
My stomach tightened.
There were dozens of reasonable explanations.
A client had given birth.
A friend’s daughter had a baby.
A distant relative I had forgotten about was there.
My mind offered each possibility rapidly.
My body believed none of them.
I pushed through the doors.
David was already halfway down the maternity corridor.
I followed him.
He stopped outside one room.
