I almost smiled. “You know me better than that.”
“I do,” he said.
I read it.
Not every word. Just enough.
My name. Connor’s name. The clinic network. Consent irregularities. Preservation of records. Genetic testing. Temporary restrictions.
Then another phrase caught my eye.
Potential third-party involvement.
I looked up.
“Kenneth.”
He knew what I had seen.
“We need to discuss that separately.”
Connor’s eyes darted toward the paper. “What third party?”
Kenneth did not answer.
Melinda, however, went still.
The baby shifted in her arms.
I noticed.
Doctors notice tiny changes.
A tightening jaw. A skipped breath. A flicker of fear.
“Melinda,” I said, “who else knew?”
She closed her eyes.
Connor muttered, “Don’t.”
Kenneth turned fully toward her. “Mrs. Fleming, if someone else assisted in falsifying consent documents, now is the time to say so.”
Mrs. Fleming.
The title landed with an unexpected sting. Not because I wanted Connor back. I did not. The thought felt almost absurd now.
