Then the fever began.
The final paragraph had been written in a shaky hand.
I told Lily that if I stopped waking up, she must take the babies to St. Anne’s.
I told her to ask for help.
I did not tell her to find you because I did not know whether you would remember me kindly.
But if this letter reaches you, please know this:
Lily is your daughter.
I never stopped loving you.
I am sorry the truth took seven years to travel seven miles.
Daniel lowered the pages.
For several moments, he could not breathe.
Maria sat beside him.
“Daniel?”
He handed her the letter.
Then he bent forward and covered his face.
In twenty years of hospital work, Maria had seen Daniel deliver terrible news to families without losing his composure.
She had seen him work through mass-casualty events, infant emergencies, and nights when every bed was full.
