After a few deep breaths, I stood up, determination edging out despair. I walked back into the hospital, the sterile smell mingling with my anxiety. I needed answers, needed to know who I could talk to, what strings I could pull, how I could fix this.

I found Dr. Patel, Daniel’s hematologist, in the hallway. His face was a mask of professional calm, but I saw the worry etched in the lines around his eyes.

“Dr. Patel,” I began, my voice steadier than I felt, “I overheard something about a mix-up with the donor registry. Is it true?”