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carefully as Ken pried Gabe’s eyes open and flashed a light in them. He tapped his knees and elbows with a small rubber mallet. When he pinched the muscle on the back of Gabe’s neck and then pricked his thigh with a safety pin, Jenny flinched—unfortunately Gabe didn’t.
    Finally the doctor’s experienced hands traveled Gabe’s arms and legs, testing his muscle tone, before frowning intently over his chart again. He carefully read each page, flipping back to an earlier page to reconfirm something. Sighing, Ken pulled a chair over next to Jenny’s. He sat down heavily and turned sad eyes to her.
    She scowled and looked away. No. No. No. Don’t look at me like that. He’s not gone. He’s not!
    “I’m sorry, Jenny.”
    “No.” She frowned fiercely and slowly shook her head. “Don’t you say it. Fix him. Just make him better.” Bring him back to me .
    “I can’t. You know I would if I could but¬—”
    “Yes. Yes, you can. Fix him.”
    “I’m sorry. I can’t fix Gabe. Nobody can.”
    She glared at him. “I don’t believe you.”
    “Jenny, Gabe is completely unaware of any internal or external stimuli. He has no pupillary response. No gag or cough response. No spontaneous reflexes. The exam and test results indicate that all functions of his brain have been irrevocably lost.”
    All functions irrevocably lost. She slumped in her seat and clutched her aching stomach. “Nooo,” she drew out.
    “If there was anything at all—I’d do it.” He pursed his lips. “But there’s no point.”
    “So, he’s…” Jenny cleared her throat. Trying again, she whispered. “He’s really gone?”
    “I’m afraid so.” Ken’s head bobbed in a slight nod. “The damage to his brain was just too massive.”
    And it’s my fault. If I hadn’t run…If I’d told him about the baby instead of manufacturing some fake scenario…If the truck hadn’t come along …she looked at Gabe, then dropped her head. I did this. It’s my fault .
    “I’m very sorry. They’ve done two EEGs, brainstem evoked potentials, and four-vessel cerebral angiography. It’s been twelve hours since he came in and there’s been no improvement at all—despite all the steroids and medication they’ve pumped into him. The ventilator is breathing for him.”
    She lifted her gaze. “Twelve hours? Twelve hours isn’t long. It’s—it’s not even twenty-four hours—not even a day. You’re ready to write him off after just twelve hours?”
    “I know it seems a short time to you, but given all the tests and medicine and the total lack of response, I’m afraid it’s not good.” Ken waited as if giving her time to assimilate the bad news before speaking gently. “They’ll maintain his respiration and heart with the machine but only long enough for you to adjust and make plans.”
    “Plans?”
    “We could keep his body alive for months like that, until an infection killed him, but we won’t. Letting Gabe continue like this only perpetuates unrealistic expectations. I’m sorry.” Ken gently squeezed her forearm. “You need to gather the family to say your good-byes and let him go with dignity.”
    “ Me ?” She had to gather the family and tell them Gabe was gone? She had to let him die? Was he crazy?
    “Yeah.” He nodded. “It’s your decision when. Technically he’s already gone, but nobody’s going to turn off the respirator before you’re ready. In all fairness to you both, it needs to be soon.”
    Jenny’s gaze darted to Gabe’s chest. She watched it rise and fall in a perfect steady rhythm. He wanted her to stop that? He’d disguised it as “letting him go with dignity,” but as far as Jenny was concerned, as long as Gabe breathed, assisted or not, he was alive. And this supposed friend, supposed expert doctor, wanted her to kill Gabe.
    “I can’t do that,” Jenny said. “What if I was wrong? What if he came out of it?” She wanted to turn from the pity in his eyes, but made herself focus on Ken’s