He blinked. “That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?” I asked. “That I forgive you? I don’t. But I’m not going to let you die. Not because you’re my brother.” I paused. “Because I’m not them.”
His eyes filled.
“Go back to your room,” I said. “You have a transplant tomorrow.”
He nodded and turned to leave.
“Lucas.”
He looked back.
“Ava would have wanted me to save you. That’s why I did it.”
He swallowed hard. “I won’t forget.”
Three weeks later, I was back home in Philadelphia when Olivia called.
“Miss Stone, I wanted to update you. Lucas’s engraftman is strong. His blast cell count is down to 2%. The transplant worked.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
“He asked if he could have your contact information to thank you.”
“No.”
“Understood. But what you did—it was extraordinary.”
“I did what Ava would have done,” I said. “That’s all.”
I hung up. I sat on the couch staring at the wall. I didn’t feel happy. I didn’t feel healed. But I felt lighter.
Six months later, Olivia called again.
“There’s a letter for you from your parents. They asked if I would forward it with your permission.”
I hesitated. Then I said yes.
The envelope was thick. I almost didn’t open it, but I did.
“Melissa, we don’t expect forgiveness. We don’t deserve it. We made a choice that shattered our family. Your father hasn’t been the same since that night. Neither have I. We are in therapy together and separately, trying to understand how we became people capable of what we did. Last month, we sold our Naples home. We donated the full proceeds, $440,000 to the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia’s cardiac transplant fund in Ava’s name. It won’t bring her back. It won’t undo our failure. But we needed you to know we were wrong. Profoundly wrong. If you ever want to talk, we are here. If you don’t, we understand. We love you. We are so sorry, Mom and Dad.”
Attached was the official receipt from the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia Foundation.
$440,000. The Ava Stone Cardiac Transplant Fund.
I called Dr. Foster.
“They donated the house money,” I said.
“How does that make you feel?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s okay.”
“Should I respond?”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“Then wait,” she said gently. “Wait until you do.”
I waited.
One winter morning, I finally called my mother. She answered on the first ring.
“Melissa.”
