A document Mark had apparently kept for almost twenty-eight years.
Miriam arranged for me to review the relevant information after it became available through appropriate channels.
I remember the conference room.
The pale walls.
The hum of the air conditioning.
The cup of coffee I couldn’t drink.
Miriam placed a copy of the document in front of me.
At the top were the words:
Briar County Memorial Hospital — Live Birth Record.
I stared at the page.
My daughter’s date of birth was correct.
The mother’s name was mine.
Emily Rose Carter.
The father’s name was Mark Carter.
Below that was a notation.
Infant transferred to neonatal intensive care.
I looked at Miriam.
“Of course she was transferred.
She was premature.”
Miriam didn’t answer.
I moved my finger farther down.
There was another entry.
Dated three days after the birth.
Condition stable.
Discharge planning initiated.
My hand stopped.
