Chapter 2: The Name on the Wristband
Richard tried to forget the incident.
He had come to the hospital for a follow-up appointment, not an argument.
Still, the image of the white wristband stayed with him.
A few minutes later, the receptionist called his name.
“Richard Hale?”
He slowly stood.
Melissa came over to guide him toward the examination area.
As he passed Karen, he noticed she was no longer sitting.
She was standing near the vending machines, holding the orange handbag tightly against her side.
Richard kept walking.
Inside the examination room, the doctor examined his knee and told him what he already suspected: he needed to slow down, use the cane consistently, and avoid standing for long periods.
Richard smiled faintly.
“My daughter has been telling me that for six months.”
The doctor smiled back.
“Then your daughter and I agree.”
After the appointment, Richard stopped at the hospital café before heading home. He had just finished paying when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
“You saw the bracelet.”
Richard turned.
Karen stood several feet away.
For the first time, she did not look angry.
She looked frightened.
Richard waited.
Karen lowered her voice.
“My husband is upstairs.”
Richard said nothing.
“He has cancer,” she continued. “He was admitted last night. I came down because the nurse told me I needed to wait until the doctor finished talking to him.”
Richard looked at the handbag.
“So the chair was for him?”
Karen nodded.
“He can’t sit for very long. I thought they’d bring him down.”
Richard took a slow breath.
“You could have just said that.”
Karen looked away.
“I didn’t want strangers asking questions.”
That answer landed differently.
Richard understood something about privacy.
His own wife, Margaret, had died three years earlier after a long illness. During those final months, Richard had hated the way strangers looked at them in hospital hallways. Some meant well. Others stared. Some asked questions that Margaret was too tired to answer.
Karen’s behavior had been wrong.
But Richard now understood where some of it came from.
Before he could respond, a hospital transporter hurried past them.
“Mrs. Whitmore?”
Karen immediately turned.
“Yes?”
“The oncology nurse is looking for you. Your husband’s doctor wants to speak with you upstairs.”
Karen’s face tightened.
She started walking.
Then stopped.
She looked back at Richard.
“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
Richard nodded.
“No. You shouldn’t have.”
Karen seemed surprised by the answer.
“But I understand why you were scared,” he added.
She gave him a small nod and disappeared toward the elevators.
Richard thought the matter was finished.
Then his phone rang.
It was his daughter, Emily.
Her voice was unusually tense.
“Dad, are you still at the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t leave yet. I need to talk to you.”
Richard looked toward the elevator doors.
Emily continued.
“I found something in Mom’s old paperwork this morning. It has to do with this hospital.”
Richard felt his stomach tighten.
He had no idea why.
