The doctor rested his hand on the paperwork and said the down payment had a history Ryan wanted me to see. Mom cut in sharply, telling him to stop. I pulled the FILE toward me and asked him to keep going.

He turned to a set of bank statements clipped behind Ryan’s donor records.

LILY MEDICAL SUPPORT.

I stared at it until the letters blurred.

Three years earlier, while my husband and I were living between hospital rooms and parking garages, my parents had offered to handle donations from relatives, coworkers, and people from their church. Mom told me it would be easier if everything went through one account. I had been grateful. I was too exhausted to track every check or transfer, and I trusted my parents.

They told me the account never became large enough to change anything.

The statements said otherwise.

There had been more than seventy thousand dollars in it at one point.

Some of that money had paid legitimate medical bills. I could see the hospital charges and pharmacy payments. But near the bottom of the page was a transfer for fifty-two thousand dollars.

The date was two days after Ryan signed his donor withdrawal.

The recipient line listed the title company that handled the purchase of his house.

I looked up at the doctor.