That alone was enough to make my stomach tighten.
But there was something else.
Written beside the payment details was a name I recognized immediately.
Dr. Samuel Bennett.
He wasn’t Conor’s usual physician.
He was the specialist who had treated my younger brother, Daniel, several years earlier.
Daniel had died after a long illness, and Dr. Bennett had been the doctor who sat with our family when we received the final news.
Conor knew him because
he had accompanied me to some of Daniel’s appointments.
But why would my husband have contacted him privately?
I sat down slowly.
For a moment, I considered waking Conor and demanding an explanation.
Then I stopped myself.
We had an appointment the next day. We had agreed to face the truth together.
I would not let suspicion destroy the fragile trust we had begun rebuilding.
I returned the receipt to the envelope.
When Conor finally woke, I was sitting beside the window with two cups of tea.
He looked at me, then at the documents on the table.
“Did you find something?” he asked.
I hesitated.
“Yes.”
His face grew pale.
I held up the receipt.
“Why did you go to Dr. Bennett?”
Conor stared at the paper.
For a few seconds, he looked as though he might deny knowing anything about it.
Then his shoulders slumped.
“Because I was
afraid the specialist would tell me something I wasn’t ready to hear.”
I waited.
“And because Dr. Bennett knew your family,” he continued. “I thought he might help me understand what the results meant before I told you.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“Did he?”
Conor shook his head.
“He told me the same thing the other doctor did. I needed further tests. He wouldn’t promise me anything, and he wouldn’t give me an answer without the proper investigation.”
I studied his face.
“Then why didn’t you tell me about the appointment?”
“Because I went there hoping he’d tell me everything was fine.”
His voice cracked.
“And when he couldn’t, I panicked.”
I sat quietly for a moment.
Then I took his hand.
“Tomorrow, we find out what we can. Together.”
He nodded.
For the first time in weeks, there was no argument, no attempt to change the subject, and
no hurried excuse.
Just a frightened man holding his wife’s hand.
I still didn’t know what the specialist would tell us.
