Chapter 1

Breakfast was unusually quiet. Dad spooned up his grits and tried to reason with me.

"Yale didn't mean anything by it. Don't let something this small come between you. Listen to me. Go ahead with the wedding."

I didn't answer. I just slipped a strip of bacon from my plate onto his plate.

Back home, Dad ran a small breakfast place. He got up before dawn to knead dough and let it rise, shape rolls and hand pies, and fry doughnuts while the coffee brewed. Yale had accepted Dad's money for tuition without a second thought, but he'd never asked where it came from. Five- and ten-dollar bills and loose coins piled up in a drawer, stained with grease and grime. The cost showed even more plainly on Dad's hands, covered in thick calluses and burn blisters.

Whenever I visited, I told him to take a break. He'd wipe his face with a towel and give me his guileless smile. "Once I've saved enough for a down payment for you two, I will."

At the beginning of the year, Dad started complaining that his stomach hurt. I asked Yale if he could use his staff family privileges to arrange an endoscopy for him.

He refused outright.

"I'm a senior doctor. How can I be the one pulling strings?"

I had to admit he had a point. So with the wedding coming up, I booked Dad an appointment for the week before it and reminded Yale several times. Every time, he said, "Got it," without looking up.

Apparently, "Got it" hadn't meant he'd remember. It hadn't been a promise. He'd only said it to brush me off.

I took Dad home and booked him an appointment at another major hospital. By seven that evening, Yale still hadn't called or texted to ask whether Dad had had his endoscopy, or whether we wanted to go out for a while. By eight, the dinner I'd made had gone cold, and Yale still wasn't home.

I called him. The phone rang for two seconds before he hung up. I texted him.

[When are you coming home?]

He didn't reply. I picked up my fork, but Dad stopped me.

"We shouldn't eat without him. Yale might be in surgery..."

Under the light, his smile drew all the wrinkles in his face together. Against his white hair, the sight stung. I swallowed the ache in my throat and set my fork down.

My phone chimed with a notification about a new post. I opened it and saw Yale grinning and flashing a peace sign with the mother and daughter from the hospital. They were in a lavish private dining room with his coworkers, a table full of food in front of them.

A nurse I knew, Nora Price, had tagged me in the comments.

[Hey, Mrs. Xavier, Yale's treating his childhood sweetheart to dinner. Where are you?]

I stared at the screen until it went dark. Then I typed a few words.

[Guess I'm not worthy.]

I put down my phone and told Dad to eat. "He's having dinner with his coworkers. We don't need to wait."

Dad's hand went still on the table. He quickly forced a smile. "It's right for him to treat them. He has to maintain those relationships at the hospital. We can't help him with that, so we should support him."

I ate in silence. Every bite felt like swallowing shards of glass.

I'd barely chewed a few mouthfuls when Yale called. His voice was colder than a knife.

"Delete it."