“What happened to her?” I asked.
Megan’s eyes glistened, but her voice remained steady. “She was the smallest. The doctors said she needed a specialist. A transfer was arranged. I was recovering from surgery. I had a fever. I kept asking where she was going, and every person gave me a different answer.”
“Who signed the transfer?”
“I thought I did.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means there were papers placed in front of me when I could barely hold a pen. It means someone told the nurses my husband’s family had arranged the best care possible. It means your mother walked into my hospital room wearing pearls and told me if I made trouble, the boys would disappear too.”
The night seemed to fall silent all at once.
My mother.
There was no room left for disbelief. Only recognition, slow and terrible.
“She came to you?” I asked.
