An Intern Claimed Her Husband Owned The Hospital—So I Made One Call

toward the doors.

Outside, David caught up to me on the sidewalk. Manhattan roared around us—cabs, horns, a distant siren.

“You okay?” he asked.

I looked down at the ruined blazer. “I’ll live.”

He snorted. “Your father is either cursing or applauding from the afterlife.”

“Knowing him,” I said, “both. Probably in that order.”

We stood watching traffic for continue reading …