He listened to her heart. His touch, one hand on her shoulder, the other on the stethoscope as he moved it over her chest, was softer than her husband's. It told her that she mattered, she was worth caring about, her heart was worth listening to.

When he reached her sternum, he pressed it gently with two fingers. Lily nearly shrieked with pain. “There,” he said. “That's where it hurts?”

“Yes,” she sobbed.

And deeper inside, where he couldn't get to with his examining touch. She just sat there on the table, while the doctor read her tests, took her blood pressure, waited for her to stop crying. He asked her about stress. Shaking, she said she was under some. At work? He asked. “At home,” she said, and they might have been the two hardest words she'd ever spoken. He nodded.

“I haven't found anything cardiac,” he said when he had finished.

She waited, listening.

“That doesn't mean there's not something there. But I've found no evidence of a heart attack, or heart failure, anything like that.”

“But my heart hurts so much.”

He nodded, taking her so seriously. She remembered how much that meant to her, the way he was really believing her, not thinking she was crazy or overreacting. It made it possible for her to take a deep breath.

“I'm going to order a stress test,” he said. “I'll recommend a cardiologist for you. But I don't think it will show anything wrong.”

“Then what?” she asked.

He stared into her eyes. He was young, tall, thin, with big blue eyes and thinning blond hair. He wore a white coat. As he spoke, he took her hand, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I think you have a broken heart,” he said.

The words unleashed new tears. Lily sat there crying softly, just holding the hand of this doctor she'd never met. Deep down she knew he was right; she just never thought she'd hear a doctor say it. He gave her the name of a cardiologist, written on a sheet of notepaper. He also wrote down the name of someplace else he thought she should call: Shoreline Domestic Violence Services.

“He doesn't hit me,” she whispered, shocked by seeing the words.

“Emotional and verbal abuse can be just as bad.”

“But it's not domestic violence. Is it?

“Ask your heart,” the doctor said quietly. He patted her shoulder, then left the room.

Lily got dressed. She was shaking as she pulled on her clothes. The contact jelly from the EKG stuck to her bra and shirt. She wondered whether Edward would be up when she got home. Maybe he would be worried, shaken up by the fact that she had actually left.