But it was a waste of time to entertain what-ifs. There were so many variables, and it was impossible to change the past, anyway. The one thing she was glad for right now was that Jana cared about Dad. Enough to be sitting here in the emergency room, so worried she was tapping her leg furiously on the linoleum floor.

“Thank you,” Kamila said. “For getting him to the hospital. For looking out for him.”

“Your father is my favorite uncle. Always has been.”

Kamila smiled sadly. “Your father was my favorite.” It was true—of the three men who’d started HNS, Jana’s father and Kamila’s father were the most similar. Sweet, kind, generous souls. Rohan’s father was more like Rohan. Buttoned-up corporate shark but with a heart of gold under that perfect tie. Kamila’s chest tightened.

They sat quietly for a while. Waiting. Bearing witness to each other’s pain.

The wait was a hair long enough to get awkward when a nurse called out, “Hussein? Hussein family?”

Kamila stood quickly. “That’s us.”

“You can come back. The doctor will speak to you.”

“C’mon,” Kamila said, motioning for Jana to join her.

The nurse pointed them to a Black woman in scrubs.

“I’m Doctor Matheson,” she said. “Are you Mr. Hussein’s daughters?”

“Yes. I mean, I am,” Kamila said. “She’s my…friend.” Did she just call Jana her friend?

The doctor looked at Kamila. “Okay. First of all, your father didn’t have a heart attack.”

Kamila exhaled as Jana took her hand and squeezed it.

“I think the chest pains started as heartburn. He told me he’s been eating well lately but fell off the wagon today and had taco samosas.”

Kamila frowned. “Taco samosas?”

Jana winced. “I got my mom a Mexican cookbook for her birthday. She’s been putting garam masala in her picadillo. Sorry.”

“The chest pain seems to have triggered a significant panic attack,” the doctor said. “I understand his wife passed from a heart attack?”

“And his best friend died of heart failure,” Jana said.

“Ah. The poor man. His blood pressure is very high. I’m worried. I’ve given him a strong antacid and am running some blood work. Can you tell me all the medications he’s on?”

Kamila listed his blood pressure and cholesterol meds, then looked at Jana. It was one thing to admit to Dad’s panic disorder but another to mention the drugs he took. But screw it—why should she keep hiding this? “Plus, antidepressants. He has clinical depression and anxiety.” She listed the specific meds.