Trouble was, it had never felt like enough. She’d talked to her mother about it, hoping for some bolstering mother-daughter advice. Winifred had blown off Dora’s complaints with a light laugh, explaining that all wives were ignored in some ways and that it was perfectly normal as the years went by. The blush is off the rose, she’d quipped.

A brisk knock on the door drew Dora’s attention away from her musings. She turned her head in time to see a doctor walk in, followed by a tall, pretty blond nurse.

“Hello, Dr. Newell,” Mamaw said.

Dora watched Dr. Newell skim through her chart. The cardiologist reminded her of Opie from Mayberry—freckled and freshly scrubbed, like he just got out of school. She wondered how someone so young could have so many degrees.

“How are we feeling?” he asked her with a quick smile.

Dora hated when doctors used the royal we. “I don’t know how you’re doing, Doctor, but I feel like something the cat dragged in.”

He chuckled, amused. Dora decided to like him.

“That’s to be expected,” he replied amiably.

Mamaw spoke up. “Was it a heart attack?”

Dr. Newell glanced up from the papers he was carrying and, directing his attention to his patient, offered Dora a professional smile and a short shake of his head. “No. Dora’s symptoms mimicked a heart attack, but we’ve looked at the tests and the good news is that you actually have a different type of heart problem called stress cardiomyopathy.”

“I didn’t have a heart attack?” Dora asked, relief flooding her body.

“No. Have you been under an unusual amount of stress lately?”

Dora glanced at Cal and saw his brows furrow in concern.

“Yes.”

“I see. This condition is usually brought on by severe stress or grief. We call it the ‘broken heart syndrome.’ ”

Dora stared back at the doctor in silence. She couldn’t believe it. That was exactly what it felt like—as if her heart had broken.

Mamaw’s relief was visible on her face. “That is good news. But I’ve never heard of this broken heart syndrome. And you called it a heart condition. Is this serious?”

“Not necessarily. You see, a stressful event triggers the sympathetic nervous system, which is also called your fight-or-flight mechanism.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Winifred chimed in.

Dr. Newell smiled in the manner a teacher would at a pupil who shouted an answer out of turn. “Yes. It’s a normal reaction. Your body unleashes a flood of chemicals, including adrenaline. This sudden flood can stun your heart muscle, leaving it unable to pump properly. We all have stress in our lives. Stress cardiomyopathy is a condition that comes on suddenly and unexpectedly, mostly among postmenopausal women. And”—he paused with another smile—“it resolves itself quickly. Especially in Dora’s case, because her heart appears to be in good shape. So even though broken heart syndrome may feel like a heart attack, it’s a lesser problem that requires a different type of treatment.”

“How exactly do you treat this, Doctor?” Mamaw asked. “Are there medicines she should take? More tests?”

“When can she go home?” asked Winifred.

The doctor listened to the flood of questions, then turned to address Dora. “I want to keep you here for the night. Maybe two. You’re a little dehydrated and I’m waiting for the results of a few more tests. You won’t need medications. At least not yet.” He looked at the others. “Dora was actually very lucky.”

“Lucky?” Dora asked.

“Lucky that we can look at your heart health now, before any more serious problems arise. I’m glad you’re here,” he said, turning to Mamaw. “I’d like to confirm family history. I understand your husband died of heart disease? And your father?”

“Yes. The family is riddled with heart disease,” Mamaw exclaimed. “Edward, my husband, died of a heart attack at seventy-two. His father and two brothers, all from heart problems. My son died at only fifty-five. We lost him so young. Muirs die of heart disease—or war,” she added darkly.

“And you?” Dr. Newell asked Mamaw.

“Not me, thankfully. Colsons get the cancer. Though I do get those heart palpitations when anxious.”

Dora thought about what Mamaw had just said about Parker. “Mamaw, I thought you always said it was the drink that killed Daddy.”

“True enough, but the immediate cause of death was a heart attack. Poor man was thin and malnourished. It was only a matter of time till the liver got him. But,” she added with emphasis, remembering an important point, “Parker had heart palpitations just like this when he was but a few years older than you are now, Dora. Edward and I took him to the doctor but he couldn’t find anything wrong.”

In the resulting silence, Dora could hear the scribbling of Dr. Newell’s pen as he wrote quickly on the chart. She’d never known that her family had such a strong history of heart disease . . . and it frightened her.

“The good news today is that your heart shows no sign of disease,” Dr. Newell told Dora. “But with your history, and this incident, it’s time to make changes. Are you a heavy drinker?”

“No,” she replied quickly. “I drink wine, mostly red,” she added, having read somewhere that red wine was good for the heart. “And the occasional cocktail. But just last month my sisters and I went cold turkey for a week, just to be sure we could. We worried about it, because of our father’s alcoholism. I didn’t have a problem stopping.”

“Good. What about your job? Sedentary?”

“I’m a stay-at-home mom. I homeschool.”

“Exercise?”

Dora shook her head, shamefaced.

“How many children?”

“One. My son, Nate. He’s nine years old.”

“What about your diet?” Dr. Newell looked at his chart. “You’re overweight and I’m concerned that you carry so much of your weight around your waist, which is a clear indicator of possible heart disease. Nurse Langelan is a nutritionist and she can give you advice on what you can do to change your diet and lifestyle.” He waved his hand toward the nurse beside him. She was tall and slender, an example of good nutrition and exercise. “You know the drill. But no more putting it off, Mrs. Tupper,” he said in earnest. “You must do it. Now. This has been your wake-up call.”