I was under anesthesia when it wore off too early. I couldn’t open my eyes, but I heard my son’s wife tell the surgeon: “If something goes wrong, don’t call her lawyer. Call me first.”

For those who survive what others hoped would destroy them.

Malcolm stood beside me holding two cups of terrible coffee.

“Peace looks good on you,” he said.

I watched a nurse wheel an elderly patient past the windows while the woman laughed softly at something nobody else heard.

“It was expensive,” I replied.

“Worth it?”

I thought about Vanessa’s white dress.

Daniel’s silence.

The darkness beneath anesthesia where I finally learned who loved me and who only loved access to my name.

Then I smiled.

“Every penny.”

That same afternoon, I changed my will one final time.

Not out of revenge.

Out of clarity.