Then she opened Ben’s electronic medical file on her computer.
Her expression changed.
She opened Ben’s electronic medical file.
“These reports aren’t in his chart.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone replaced his medical record.”
“Can someone really do that?”
“Not legally.”
“Why would anyone?”
“These reports aren’t in his chart.”
She met my eyes.
“I don’t know.”
The honesty in her answer frightened me more than any explanation could have.
“If someone falsified your husband’s diagnosis, this has become a criminal matter,” she continued.
I swallowed.
She leaned forward. “Don’t let him know you’ve discovered any of this. Because if we’re right, whatever he’s planning hasn’t happened yet.”
“Whatever he’s planning hasn’t happened yet.”
That afternoon I walked back into Ben’s room carrying takeout soup.
He smiled with obvious relief and reached for my hand.
“I’ve been worrying. About what happens after I’m gone…”
A chill went down my spine. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated.
“The paperwork… There’s something you need to sign.”
“What do you mean?”
I kept my face calm.
“What paperwork?”
“The trust release. Joint accounts. Just practical things.” He looked down at the blanket. “If I leave you with a legal mess, I’ll never forgive myself.”
I stared at him.
All I could think about was how this fitted into his terminal diagnosis act.
