The Heart That Waited

At the highway toll station, I stared nervously at my phone.

The heart in the box would fail if not transplanted into the patient within half an hour.

Driver Bob leaned close to the toll collector's ear and whispered something.

Instantly, the toll collector's expression changed.

"Get out. Open the box. Inspection."

She pointed at the box containing the donated heart, and my own heart skipped a beat.

"Sir, I can't open it. This contains—"

Bob cut me off. "That's a heart. Evidence of her murder."

"No, this was donated by a patient. I'm a doctor."