26
“What about his mother?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
The child was sleeping soundly in the man’s brawny arms. He carefully laid him down on a small bed nearby and pulled a blanket over him before turning back to me.
His expression was strange. Perhaps because I had helped him, he finally answered. “… It’s not a secret.”
“His mother passed away.”
His words were blunt and final. Then came the cold dismissal: “You can go now.”
I didn’t say another word. I picked up my white coat and left. On my way down, I glanced back at the clean, quiet corridor of the 18th floor. I remembered the nurses gossiping in the office that day. They said an incre- dibly important patient had checked in on the 18th floor, booking the entire level for himself, with a team of specialists at his beck and call.
So, that distinguished patient was Damian.
