“What was the emergency?” I asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the medical details anymore. Those records were transferred years ago, and I would need your written consent to search them.”
I swallowed.
“Was she alone?”
“Yes,” Margaret said gently. “She was frightened, but she was very clear about what she wanted.”
“What did she ask for?”
“Help that would get her through the immediate crisis, and then no more.”
Margaret glanced at the letter.
“Mr. Moretti arranged the payment through the clinic. He did not ask for publicity, and he did not ask us to tell anyone outside the people who needed to process it.”
“Did my mother know it was him?”
“Yes.”
“Did she speak to him?”
“Once, briefly. She thanked him and told him she would not accept any more assistance.”
I could hear my mother saying it, her voice composed and firm, making gratitude sound like a boundary.
