Chapter 6 - THE PATTERN INSIDE THE FEVER
The fever had finally started to fall when the pediatric cardiologist walked into the consultation room carrying an ECG strip.
Dr. Priya Shah placed it on the table between us.
“Maisie had a dangerous ventricular rhythm during the highest point of her fever,” she said. “This pattern is consistent with Brugada syndrome.”
Across the room, my ex-husband, Grant Mercer, went completely still.
His new wife, Brooke, clutched the hospital blanket around her shoulders.
“Is that genetic?” she asked.
“It often is,” Priya said. “We need to test both parents and review the family history.”
Grant looked at me.
Three years earlier, our eight-year-old son, Liam, had died during what doctors believed was a viral infection. He had developed a fever on Friday night and collapsed before dawn on Saturday.
I had been working in the emergency department when Judith, Grant’s mother, called me.
By the time I reached the hospital, Liam was gone.
For three years, I had replayed every symptom I missed.
The fatigue.
The nightmares.
The two times he said his heart felt funny.
Priya pointed to the raised pattern on Maisie’s ECG.
“This condition can become more dangerous during fever.”
My hands went cold.
“Liam had a fever when he died.”
Grant stood abruptly. “We don’t know this has anything to do with Liam.”
“We don’t know that it doesn’t.”
Brooke looked between us. “Who is Liam?”
Grant closed his eyes.
I answered because he did not.
“Our son.”
Brooke’s face changed. She knew Grant had lost a child. She had apparently never been told how.
Priya gathered the ECG strips.
“I’ll order genetic testing immediately. Until we have answers, Maisie stays in the cardiac ICU.”
As she left, Brooke turned toward Grant.
“Does this run in your family?”
“No.”
His answer came too quickly.
I knew that voice.
It was the same voice Grant used when he had already decided the truth would be inconvenient.
Brooke heard it too.
She stepped away from him.
“What aren’t you telling us?”
Grant stared through the glass at his feverish daughter.
Then he whispered, “My uncle died in his sleep when he was nineteen.”
The room became silent.
I looked at him.
May you like
“You told Liam’s doctors there was no family history.”
Grant did not deny it.
