I barely slept. My phone lit up with messages from Brendon:
“Where are you?”
“Don’t make me the bad guy.”
“We need to look united. Stop digging, Olivia.”
At sunrise, the nurse called me back. I explained everything — the appointment, the note, the video. She promised to inform the doctor immediately.
I returned to the hospital around noon. Brendon was pacing in the waiting area. When he saw me, he rushed over.
“Did you find something?”
I met his gaze.
“You canceled his follow-up, Brendon. You told him not to call me, even when he was scared.”
He sank into a chair. “I thought he was fine, Olivia. He said he was tired, that’s all. I didn’t want to worry you.”
“I need to speak to the doctor and the social worker. Andrew deserves better from both of us.”
Brendon’s sister, Hannah, arrived just as I stood.
She watched the video once. Then again.
A nurse passed by, glancing at us.
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