"Do you have any idea how long Naomi fought the hospital to get assigned to your surgery? Do you have any idea how many trips I've made to that hospital for your sake?"
I let out a quiet, icy laugh. "How exhausting for the both of you."
"But I've said it. I'm not having this surgery."
"Family or doctor, either way, you're supposed to respect the patient's own wishes, aren't you?"
A full month had passed since the premarital exam came back with a cancer diagnosis.
In that month, Leonard had indeed been running back and forth to the hospital.
But not for my condition. He'd been picking up Naomi and driving her home.
Eight years together, and Leonard had never once picked me up from work. He didn't even know which direction my office entrance faced.
Naomi had been back for six months, and he was already a regular at the hospital.
"Constance, this isn't up to you."
"I've already got your admission arranged. And when the time comes, I'll sign the consent form myself—as your spouse."
"This surgery matters for you and for Naomi."
It didn't matter for me.
It mattered for Naomi.