“Yes,” I said.
“A good husband?”
My throat closed up.
“Yes.”
Lydia let out a long breath.
“Then maybe,” she said gently, “you need to listen to him.”
“Lyd—”
“I’m not saying forgive him. I’m not saying anything. I’m saying listen. You walked out of the hospital without letting him say a single word. That’s not like you, Hannah. You always listen. It’s your whole job.”
I stared at the evidence spread across his desk.
“I knew him as Niye when we were kids,” I said. “Just Niye. His little sister couldn’t say Nigel. I never knew his last name. When he walked into that exam room and said Dr. Pruitt, Nigel, I never put two and two together. I never connected it. Why would I?”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“He’s been working on fixing my eyes for more than twenty-five years, Lyd. Since before he met me. I’m looking at his notes. He wrote me a letter when he was eight. He promised he’d become a doctor and fix my eyes.”
