Chapter 1 - The Surgeon Knew My NameAround 5:30 that morning, the surgeon finally came through the double doors.
He was a tall man in his fifties, with tired eyes and a blue surgical cap tucked into the pocket of his scrubs. He carried a clipboard against his chest, and before he spoke, he looked from Nina to me as if deciding which of us would take the news worse.
“Family of Gregory Ashby?”
Nina stood so quickly that her chair scraped across the floor.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m his wife.”
“I’m his father-in-law,” I added.
The surgeon nodded. “Your husband has sustained significant internal injuries. His liver was badly lacerated, and he lost a dangerous amount of blood before the paramedics arrived. We’ve managed to control the bleeding, and at this point, he’s alive.”
Nina's knees seemed to give way.
I caught her by the elbow before she could fall.
“Is he going to survive?” she whispered.
“We’re cautiously optimistic. The next twenty-four hours will be important. There are complications we need to watch for, and we won't know the full extent of his recovery until he’s awake.”
“Can I see him?”
“Not yet. He’s being moved to intensive care.”
Nina covered her mouth. Tears slipped between her fingers.
I rubbed her back, trying to comfort her while my mind returned to the same question that had been eating at me since the phone call.
Why had Greg been on Route 6?
The surgeon started to leave, but I stopped him.
“Doctor, I need to know something. Was my son-in-law driving alone?”
He turned back.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because my daughter says he was going to the gym. The accident happened forty minutes in the opposite direction.”
For the first time, the surgeon's expression changed.
It was only a flicker, but I caught it.
“I believe that question would be better directed to the police,” he said carefully.
“Have they spoken with you?”
“They were here earlier.”
“When?”
“Shortly after the patient arrived.”
Nina grabbed my arm.
“Daddy, please. Not now.”
I looked at her.
She was crying, exhausted, frightened. And yet there was something else in her face. Something tightly wound beneath the grief.
I had seen that expression before, though I couldn't remember where.
The surgeon excused himself, leaving us beneath the fluorescent lights.
Nina sank into her chair.
“Why did you ask him that?”
“Because it doesn't make sense.”
“People take different roads.”
“Forty minutes in the wrong direction?”
“He might have gone somewhere before the gym.”
“Somewhere he didn't tell you about?”
She stared at me.
For a moment, I thought she might answer honestly.
Then she looked away.
“Please, Daddy. I can't do this right now.”
I sat beside her, but I didn't promise to stop asking questions.
An hour later, while Nina tried to sleep with her head against my shoulder, I walked to the vending machines at the end of the hallway.
I needed coffee. I needed fresh air. Mostly, I needed a moment alone with my thoughts.
That was when I noticed a uniformed police officer standing near the intensive care entrance.
He was speaking quietly to a woman in a gray coat. She held a folder against her chest and kept glancing toward the waiting room.
When the officer turned away, the woman approached me.
“Mr. Ashby?”
I straightened.
“Yes.”
“My name is Detective Alvarez. Pennsylvania State Police.”
I offered my hand. She shook it quickly.
“I'm investigating the collision involving your son-in-law.”
“Was it a collision with another vehicle?”
She didn't answer immediately.
“His vehicle left the road and struck a tree.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Her eyes settled on mine.
“No other vehicle has been identified at the scene.”
“Then why did you say collision?”
“That's the preliminary description in the report.”
I didn't like her answer.
I liked even less the way she watched me while giving it.
“Was anyone else in the car?”
Detective Alvarez opened her folder.
“According to the evidence we've collected, Mr. Ashby was the registered driver. We haven't confirmed whether anyone else was present.”
“Didn't anyone see the accident?”
“A truck driver reported seeing headlights leave the road shortly before one in the morning. By the time he reached the location, your son-in-law was unconscious inside the vehicle.”
“Did he see another car?”
“No.”
“Did he see anyone leave the scene?”
The detective closed the folder.
“Mr. Ashby, I understand that you're worried about your family. But I need to ask you something, and I need you to be very careful about your answer.”
“Go ahead.”
“Has Greg ever told you that he was afraid of someone?”
I thought about Greg's perpetual smile, his rehearsed politeness, the way he could make a room feel comfortable while revealing absolutely nothing about himself.
“No,” I said.
“Has your daughter mentioned any threats, arguments, or unusual behavior recently?”
Behind us, a chair scraped against the floor.
Nina was standing in the doorway.
Her face had gone white.
“Daddy,” she said, her voice barely audible.
Detective Alvarez turned toward her.
“Mrs. Ashby. We need to speak.”
Nina looked at the detective, then at me.
And for one terrible second, I saw something in my daughter's expression that frightened me more than the phone call had.
She wasn't simply afraid of what had happened to Greg.
She was afraid of what the police might discover.
“About what?” she asked.
The detective reached into her folder and removed a photograph.
“About the woman who was seen getting into your husband's car at 11:38 last night.”
May you like
Nina stopped breathing.
And I realized that whatever had happened on Route 6, it had started long before the crash.
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