M. A sterile, automat

d. The registered owner, Ryan

ur Upper East Side apartment, the doorman barely get

thing. Panic set in, cold and sharp. I pictured his T

agged breathing. I burst through the automatic doors of the emerg

a curtained-off bay. "He

ée," I said, m

was on the gurney, hooked up to an IV, his

stick was smeared, and she was clutching his hand, her face a mask o

he breathed, a

y breath caught in my throat. It was Andrew Lester. Dr. Andrew Lester n

en to Sylvia. A flicker of understanding, or maybe pity, crossed

oice barely a whisper. "The ca

e. "There was no collision. Mr. Scott experienc

closer to the bed,

ere latex allergy. Exacerbated by

lvia's disheveled state. The two of them, together. The pieces clicked into p

d molded myself into the perfect, supportive, "grounded" woman for him. I downplayed my family's wealth, my

"And you are...?" he asked, his voice gentle, a

aring at her hands, refusing to meet my eyes. Th

my voice cold and cl

of the ER faded behind me. Once outside in the cool night air,

ond ring. "Gabrielle?

d of all emotion. "About the Lester p