To the Doctor: A Daughter

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‘SHE’S your baby.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Maybe he hadn’t heard right. It was the end of a long day and Dr Nate Ethan was thinking of the night to come. This woman was his last patient and then he was free.

Donna would be waiting. That was a good thought. Tonight was the Terama Jazzfest and he was never too tired for jazz.

Meanwhile, it looked as if he had to cope with a nutcase.

‘Excuse me?’ he said again, and forced himself to focus. Nutcase or not, she might be in trouble. He didn’t know who she was and with unknown patients nothing should be assumed.

So concentrate…

She could well be a single mum, he decided, noting the absence of a wedding ring. After six years of country medicine he noticed such things almost without trying. She was in her late twenties, he guessed, though the strain on her face made her look older. Faded jeans, a T-shirt that was old and misshapen and the knot of frayed ribbon catching back her mass of black curls suggested financial hardship.

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