Nick complaining of chest pain? Her entire body clenched as she tried to wrap her head around his symptoms. They made little sense. He was fit and healthy, didn’t smoke, drank moderately and ate a Mediterranean diet. His grandparents had lived to a ripe old age and his parents were fit and well. His only risk factor was he was male. None of it reassured her enough to quieten her clawing terror that something was seriously wrong.

She heard someone clearing their throat and turned to see a man with a stethoscope slung around his neck. “Hello, I’m Dr. Naing.”

“Dr. Hunter.” Libby shot out her hand. “Nick’s wife. Do you have his cardiac enzymes results?”

“I do. Good news, Mr. Pirelli. We’re fairly confident you haven’t had a heart attack, but we’ll repeat the blood tests in another three hours so we’re absolutely certain. Your white cell count is normal and your chest X-ray is clear with no sign of pneumonia—”

“And pulmonary embolism?” Libby asked, running through her own checklist.

“Yes.” Dr. Naing gave a wry smile and concentrated on Nick. “I’m going to send you for a CT and echocardiogram so we can rule out a few other nasties.” He glanced at the monitor. “Good to see your blood pressure’s starting to come down. How are you feeling compared to when you first arrived?”

Nick fidgeted with the top sheet. “The pain’s less but I feel like I could sleep for a week. It’s stupid, because I haven’t done anything to make me tired.”

“Well, you’re in the right place and we’ll get to the bottom of it. The best thing for you is to get some rest. You’re going to be here for a few hours yet.”

Nick nodded and closed his eyes again.

“Will you admit him?” Libby asked the doctor, starting to think of the girls and logistics.

“We’ll keep you informed.”

Libby recognized the code for “it depends on his results.” As the doctor walked away, she sat down again and slid her hand into Nick’s. He didn’t get sick often, but when he did, he was very capable of exhibiting all the symptoms of man-flu. Once, when he’d caught a heavy cold, he’d summoned her to their bedroom multiple times with requests for everything from Tylenol to new batteries for the remote. The ninth time he rang the bell, she’d confiscated it. But today, this quiet, exhausted and withdrawn—almost resigned—version of her husband scared her.

Her phone vibrated again and Jess’s name lit up the screen. Technically, she wasn’t allowed to have her phone turned on back here so she selected the offered text option, Will call you back.