Skip to content Her voice sharpened.
“Olivia, sign the paper. Give the baby your name.”
“Mom.”
“No man disappears on the day his son is born and then tells his wife what she can and can’t write.”
I looked down at Owen.
His tiny mouth opened slightly as he slept.
Mom leaned closer.
“You didn’t see him leave. I did. He was completely calm.”
“Please stop.”
“Men who are hiding things can look very calm.”
Nurse Maeve entered again.
“Still no rush, but if we get the name today, it’ll make the paperwork easier.”
“My husband is coming back,” I said.
She nodded and left.
Mom pressed the pen into my hand.
“Do it.”
I brought the tip toward the line.
And then I stopped.
Because suddenly, several memories came rushing back.
James awake at two in the morning with the laptop.
The envelope from a law firm I had never heard of.
A conversation I overheard in the garage weeks earlier.
James speaking quietly into the phone.
“Her son deserves to know the truth.”
At the time, I thought he was talking about our unborn child.
Now I wasn’t sure.
“Olivia,” Mom said. “Why aren’t you signing?”
I put the pen down.
“I’m waiting.”
She stared at me.
“You’re exhausted. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“I think I’m thinking clearly for the first time today.”
She shook her head.
“If James has done something—”
“If I’m wrong about him, I can be angry later.”
I took a breath.
“But if I write something out of fear or spite before I know what’s happening, I might regret it forever.”