There was something in his expression I couldn’t read.
“Warren, do you know this woman?”
He looked at me.
“Not really.”
I wasn’t going to turn his final wish into an interrogation.
That should have bothered me more than it did.
But my husband was dying.
I wasn’t going to turn his final wish into an interrogation.
So I helped him contact the donation team.
The coordinator warned us that naming Mallory guaranteed nothing. She still had to qualify for the transplant, be medically compatible, and Warren’s lungs had to remain suitable for donation.
The testing showed she was compatible.
Mallory was already on the waiting list.
