Song rec'd: "Poison" — David Kushner
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One Week Later
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"Cancel all my appointments, meetings—whatever—for the next month. I'm putting you in charge," I said to Harry as I stepped out of the elevator and into my office to clear out a few files before heading home to Reese.
I can't find the words to describe how this week has unfolded for us. Initially, I doubted the doctor's diagnosis and had Reese examined three times by different medical professionals; they all delivered the same verdict. After a day of being unconscious, Elspeth finally regained consciousness.
"It's my fault; I had cardiomyopathy when I was fifteen," she cried. I can't blame her—I won't. The universe seemed to smile upon us when the family of a brain-dead social worker offered to help Reese. I rewarded them generously, promising even more once the transplant was successful.
