Midnight.
The city celebrated.
I bent my head and kissed Liam’s soft hair.
“Happy New Year, son,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
The doctor came out twenty minutes later. She introduced herself as Dr. Patel and spoke in the calm, careful tone of someone accustomed to delivering frightening news without causing panic.
“Maya has a post-operative infection, dehydration, and significant anemia,” she said. “The incision has partially reopened. We’re admitting her for intravenous antibiotics and observation.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
“We caught it before it became more serious.”
Before it became more serious.
The phrase should have comforted me. It didn’t.
Dr. Patel glanced at Liam, who was sleeping against my chest.
“Your son should also remain here for monitoring tonight. His temperature is improving, and he’s feeding well. That’s encouraging.”
“Thank you.”
The doctor hesitated.
“Mr. Bennett, I need to ask you a difficult question. Was your wife being prevented from accessing food, medication, heat, or medical care?”
I looked through the curtain at Maya.
“I don’t know,” I said.
For the second time that night, the truth sounded unbearable.
Maya answered the question herself after they moved us into a private room.
“No one locked me in,” she said.
