Theo’s small hand slipped into mine, and I did not even stop to lock the door. His grandmother, Ruth, waited in a dusty blue car at the curb, her eyes red from crying. “Maren is dying,” she said softly. “Her kidneys are failing, and the doctors say only a close blood relative can save her.” I do not remember the drive. I only remember the old photograph pressed against my chest.

In room 312, a thin, pale woman turned her head, and I knew her eyes instantly. “Mom?” she whispered, and then her face crumpled with fear. “Why did you come? I told you not to look for me.” Before I could answer, the door opened. A man in a gray suit stepped inside, holding up a badge, and said quietly, “Ma’am, you need to hear why she left, and you need to hear it right now.”