doctor.
“When can we see her?”
I stepped between him and the recovery ward.
“You will not enter that room until Rosie says she wants you there.”
“I am her father.”
“And she is an adult.”
Dad’s face hardened.
“You cannot make that decision.”
“No,” I said. “Neither can you.”
Ben spoke quietly.
“Rosie has a medical directive. I am her chosen decision-maker while she is unable to speak.”
My parents stared at him.
“She prepared it with her own lawyer,” he continued. “Not yours.”
My mother looked as though he had struck her.
“You turned her against us.”
“No,” Ben said. “You underestimated her long before I arrived.”
The elevator doors opened behind them.
For several seconds, neither parent moved.
Then Dad took Mom’s arm.
They left without another word.
The corridor felt lighter when the doors closed.
Ben leaned against the wall.
“I am sorry I did not
