I did not move.
Then I felt something cold beneath my nose. Her makeup mirror. She was checking for breath.
I held still until my lungs burned.
Satisfied, she knelt beside me. Her nails scraped my hand as she twisted off my wedding ring.
“Better remove this now,” she muttered. “Fingers swell when the heart stops.”
Then she called Madison.
“It’s done,” Margaret said smoothly. “He’s on the floor. Bring the blue binder. We need the medical power of attorney and the Do Not Resuscitate order ready before anyone calls paramedics.”
I had never signed a DNR.
Fifteen minutes later, the front door burst open.
“Dad!” Ethan shouted.
He dropped beside me and shook my shoulders.
“Mom, what happened? Call 911!”
For one brief second, warmth filled my chest.
He cared.
Blood didn’t matter. This was the boy I had raised.
Then Madison’s voice cut through the room.
“Don’t touch that phone, Ethan.”
He froze.
“What are you talking about? He’s having a heart attack!”
“He is supposed to be having a heart attack,” Margaret said coldly. “He signed a DNR. We have to respect his wishes.”
Ethan looked from his mother to his wife, who was calmly placing legal documents on the coffee table.
Then my cell phone rang inside my breast pocket.
Ms. Whitaker.
“Who is calling him?” Madison snapped.
Ethan pulled the phone from my pocket and stared at the screen. He looked at me. He looked at Madison. He looked around at the estate.
He had a choice.
