“Alicia, I’m your doctor. This isn’t appropriate.”
“Why does having less time make my wish less worth considering?”
I knew I should refuse. Instead, I convinced myself that giving her one happy memory was worth the risk.
I arranged for another physician to take over her care, but I never consulted my supervisor about the marriage.
The next day, we married in her hospital room. I wore a tie, and a nurse made rings from clean bandages. Alicia wore a white scarf over her head, and her sister, Nora, brought flowers.
She smiled throughout the ceremony.
“Thank you,” Nora told me afterward. “You gave her something.”
I left believing I’d done a good thing.
Two days later, Alicia died.
At her funeral, I felt unsure of where I belonged among the people who had loved her all their lives.
As I walked toward my car, Nora hurried over with a sealed box.
“She wanted you to have this after she was gone.”
