Chapter 21 - DON’T DO THIS YOUR WAYDante’s world noticed the change.
Associates.
Business partners.
Men who knew him from darker years.
One of them asked:
“You’re letting a doctor embarrass you publicly?”
Dante looked at him.
“No.”
“Looks like it.”
“My daughter asked me to let institutions work.”
The man laughed.
“You’ve gone soft.”
Dante smiled.
“Say it again.”
The man stopped laughing.
Rosalie, nearby, heard.
“Dad.”
Dante sighed.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You did the face.”
“What face?”
“The murder face.”
Eli, visiting that weekend, nodded.
“You have one.”
Dante stared at both.
He was surrounded by traitors.
But privately, he understood.
The old response would have been easy.
Threat.
Pressure.
Fear.
The new response required patience.
Documentation.
Testimony.
Waiting.
Harder.
More durable.
When St. Catherine published its final findings, the conclusions were careful.
Hannah Mercer’s concerns had reasonable basis.
Communication channels failed.
Review structures were conflicted.
Rosalie’s prior prognosis should have included greater uncertainty regarding functional recovery.
Moretti’s financial interests were inadequately disclosed.
No evidence established intentional worsening of Rosalie’s condition.
Dante read the last line repeatedly.
No villainous sabotage.
Good.
Rosalie deserved truth, not fantasy.
Eli asked:
“So Mom won?”
Dante thought.
“This isn’t court.”
“Did she?”
Rosalie answered.
“They said she should’ve been listened to.”
Eli smiled.
“Then yes.”
Fair enough.
Hannah’s professional association posthumously recognized her advocacy in a patient-centered care report.
Not sainthood.
Not hero mythology.
Recognition.
Eli framed that too.
His room became crowded with frames.
May you like
His aunt complained.
He did not care.
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