I remembered Rose’s final days with painful clarity. She had been born with a severe heart defect and survived only three days. After childbirth, I became dangerously ill and couldn’t be beside her during her final hours. Arthur had promised me that no procedures had been performed after her death. But his letter revealed that he had lied. A doctor had approached him about another newborn who was dying and desperately needed a pulmonary valve. Rose’s valve might save that baby. Unable to wake me and facing an urgent decision, Arthur had authorized the donation. Rose died in his arms, and afterward her valve was recovered. He explained that he had hidden everything because he feared the truth would destroy me.
I sat at the table crying, feeling grief and anger together. Then I opened the remaining envelopes. They contained letters from the family of the child Rose had helped save. His name was Daniel Hartwell, and his mother had written to Arthur every year.
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