Part 3: The Secret Meetings
As Mark became weaker, he started asking to speak privately with Dr. Rivers.
The first time, I teased him.
“What is this? Some secret husband-doctor conspiracy?”
Mark smiled.
The second time, I didn’t laugh.
I stood near the hospital room door while Dr. Rivers waited outside.
“What are you arranging?”
Mark rested against the pillows.
“Something I need to take care of.”
“Without me?”
“Yes.”
I crossed my arms.
“But it concerns me?”
His mouth curved faintly.
“It’s for you.”
“That makes it worse.”
“I know.”
“Mark.”
“Please trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
“Then let me do this one thing on my own.”
I wanted to argue.
I wanted to remind him that we had spent years deciding everything together, from mortgages to paint colors to whether the dog was technically allowed to sleep on the bed.
But there was something in his expression that stopped me.
So I nodded.
Dr. Rivers went inside.
I remained in the hallway long after the door closed.
I hated not knowing.
But I loved him enough to allow him one final piece of privacy.
Mark died on a rainy Tuesday.
I was holding his hand.
There was no great speech.
No dramatic final moment.
Just the sound of rain against the hospital window and his fingers growing still inside mine.
Afterward, people began asking questions.
The donation team explained what might be medically possible and what might not.
I signed documents.
I answered what I could.
And every time someone asked me whether organ and tissue donation truly reflected Mark’s wishes, I gave the same answer.
“Yes.”
My voice shook every time.
“Yes. This is what he wanted.”
Then Dr. Rivers found me in the hallway.
And handed me the envelope.
That night, I sat alone in our house with it resting on the kitchen table.
Eventually, I opened it.
Inside was a folded note and a flash drive.
The note contained only a few lines.
Please don’t watch this just because you miss me.
Watch it if someone ever makes you doubt me.
And especially if someone makes you doubt yourself.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Finally, I looked toward the empty chair across the table.
“You’re dead,” I muttered. “You don’t get to give me instructions anymore.”
Cecelia kicked hard beneath my ribs.
I looked down.
“Your father is already annoying me from beyond the grave.”
Another kick.
“Yes. He probably deserved that.”
I folded the note.
Then I put the flash drive away.
I wasn’t ready.
