Connor laughed under his breath. “Listen to yourself. You sound ridiculous.”
She looked at him then, and something in her face changed.
Not dramatically. Not with a speech. Just a small, weary shift, like a door unlocking after years of pressure.
“No,” she said. “I sound like someone who is finally telling the truth.”
Connor stared at her.
I had seen him angry before. I had seen his charm sour, his patience evaporate, his affection turn conditional. But I had rarely seen him speechless.
Kenneth used the moment.
“Mr. Fleming,” he said, “you need counsel. Anything you say may become relevant in the civil proceedings, and possibly more.”
“Possibly more?” Connor snapped. “What does that mean?”
“It means forged medical consent forms are not a misunderstanding.”
The word forged landed between us.
Forged.
I looked again at the signature copies.
There was my name, looped and confident.
Almost right.
Not quite.
