a scanned page.
“There’s another patient listed under the same surname, same first name, same birth year, and the same clinic.”
My anger disappeared for a moment.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m not convinced this diagnosis belonged to your husband.”
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Michael stared at her.
“But I remember going to that clinic.”
“You may have. That doesn’t mean this specific report was yours.”
The doctor asked us to wait while she contacted medical records.
For nearly forty minutes, neither Michael nor I said much.
I kept looking at him.
He had hidden something from me, yes.
But now there was a different question.
Had he spent years believing something about himself that was never true?
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The doctor finally returned holding several printed pages.
Her expression was serious.
“I found an archived note.”
Michael stood.
“And?”
She placed the papers on
the
