The specialist came. She asked the questions. She did what specialists do — precise, efficient, focused entirely on the task. She was not Izzy. I could see that clearly. A different person entirely. But someone had sent her. Something had arranged for her to be standing in this ward at this moment doing this particular thing.

She closed the wound.

As she turned to leave I saw it.

Izzy’s smile.

Not her face. Just the smile. Just for a moment. Just long enough for me to know.