He is forty-one years old. It was unexpected. The doctors used the phrase "widow-maker" when they first called Lisa, which is a phrase I had never heard before that morning. He is in a medically induced coma. He might live. He might not. His mother Evelyn, who I still love — who called me from the hospital in tears — begged me to come. "He would want you there, honey. Whatever happened between you. He would want you there." And I had to tell her, as gently as I could, that I was not coming. That I had not set foot in a hospital for Mason Hale in six years, and I was not going to start now. She said she understood. She didn't. She couldn't. Because I have never told anyone — not my sisters, not my mother, not my therapist for the last three years — what Mason said to me the night our daughter was born. I had never told another living soul, until Lisa called me yesterday morning. And I told her.