Caleb stepped into the hospital room at 3:11 p.m. with the same careful face he had worn all afternoon.
The ceramic mug was balanced in his right hand.
Steam lifted from the pale lemon tea in thin, twisting lines, carrying the sweet smell of honey across the cold room. Rebecca’s stomach tightened before the cup even reached the tray.
Behind him stood Dr. Harris.
But this time, the doctor was not alone.
A woman in a charcoal blazer entered behind him, her hair pinned low, her badge clipped to her pocket instead of displayed around her neck. Beside her was a hospital security officer with one hand resting calmly over his radio.
Caleb’s smile held for half a second too long.
Her fingers stayed wrapped around the tablet beneath the blanket.
Dr. Harris looked at the mug.
“Set it down, Mr. Ward.”
Caleb turned his head slowly. “Excuse me?”
“On the counter,” Dr. Harris said. “Not beside her.”
The room changed temperature without the thermostat moving. Rebecca could hear the monitor, the soft hiss of oxygen from the wall, the rubber soles of the security officer shifting near the door.
Corporate gifting
“That’s why we’re interested in it.”
Caleb’s thumb pressed against the handle until his knuckle whitened.
Rebecca did not speak. Her mouth was too dry. Her pulse was already answering for her on the monitor.
Dr. Harris reached for a sealed plastic evidence bag and held it open.
“Mr. Ward,” he said, “place the mug inside.”
Caleb’s eyes moved once to Rebecca.
Not fear yet.
Calculation.
Then he smiled again.
“Doctor, my wife is very ill. I understand everyone is emotional, but this is unnecessary.”
Rebecca watched the woman in the blazer tilt her head.
“What’s unnecessary,” she said, “is a husband leaving his terminally ill wife’s room, driving home to open her private safe, and returning with an unapproved drink after being told no outside liquids.”
