My confrontation with Shair is at the tip of my tongue, but I hold back from telling Mom because I still worry she’ll step in and I need to do this on my own. Shair had come undone when I left. Lacey called me, feeling compelled to let me know that he was trembling and emotional when he’d come out of the room.

I’ve never seen a patient so terrified of dying, Lacey had commented.

“Speaking of Adam,” Mom says, prodding. “Is there anything you want to share with me about the two of you?”

“What do you mean?” I ask. The train comes to a stop. I scan the newcomers, wondering if I’ll bump into any of Shair’s family members and unsure whether I would recognize them if I did.

Mom purses her lips, then reaches into her purse and takes out her phone. In a few clicks, she’s pulled up Adam’s profile. She hands me her phone so I can take a closer look.

“I saw this earlier today,” she says.

Adam has posted the picture of the two of us in Bryant Park. The way he’s cropped the photo, my smile looks coy and playful. And he’s used a filter that makes it look warm and nostalgic. Underneath is a caption that sounds nothing like Adam, the boyfriend, and everything like Adam, the politician.

Daytime date with my one and only. This woman knows the importance of health care and saves lives daily. Like the speech therapist with colon cancer who just wants to see her two little girls grow up. That mom is in a battle with her insurance company too, fighting to be able to afford the medications she needs to live.

Lucky for me, this doc doesn’t need a scalpel to save my life. She just needs to say yes when that moment comes.

The post is followed with a slew of hashtags related to health care and the General Assembly, a couple for women doctors and surgeons, and even one that reads #sayyestoAdam.

I feel sick.

I can’t believe he would violate my trust. I can’t believe he would put a patient’s private information out there and risk my job. I’m stunned because Adam knows about protected information and the law. And he knows I don’t share my personal life online, where hospital administration or patients could find it.

“Why would he do this?”

Mom lets out a heavy sigh.

“The two of you will have to have a conversation about boundaries. Or maybe a new conversation about boundaries,” she says. “But this is going to come up as the campaign progresses, and there’s a long road between now and election day.”

I bite my lip, then take out my phone and shoot a quick text to Adam.

I need you to take down that pic of us you posted on FB. It’s a HIPAA violation.