“You’re here in Atlanta?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief from my voice.

“Indeed, I am. Edward’s birthday celebration ended yesterday, and I caught the overnight flight. I’m actually waiting for my driver now. We can easily pick you up on the way. Do you have checked luggage?”

“Just this carry‑on,” I said, patting the small suitcase containing three weeks of hospital existence. “But Harrison, I can’t impose.”

“Pamela,” he interrupted gently, “you’ve just had major cardiac surgery. The last thing you need is to struggle with rideshare apps and strange drivers. Text me your exact location. Samuel and I will be there in fifteen minutes.”

After we hung up, I sat in stunned silence. Dr. Harrison Wells—the man who had revolutionized cardiac care, whose research was featured in medical journals worldwide, who had a six‑month waiting list for consultations—was coming to pick me up at the airport like we were old friends.