“My son works himself to exhaustion so you can waste his money on this?” She waved one jeweled hand around the room. “You are nothing but a liability.”
My pulse quickened.
Not because of the insult.
Because of the thick folder beneath her arm.
Cream-colored paper. Blue tabs. A notary seal visible through the transparent cover.
Legal documents.
Margaret noticed me looking.
Her lips curved.
She removed the folder and tossed it onto my tray table. It struck the untouched bowl of broth, splashing liquid across the pages.
“Sign it.”
I did not touch the folder.
“What is it?”
“You can read.”
“I can. That’s why I’m asking whether you know what it is.”
Her smile vanished.
“A Parental Rights Waiver. Karen can’t have children. She needs a son to carry on the Whitmore name. You clearly can’t handle two infants, so this solves everyone’s problem.”
The room seemed to contract.
The hum of the heating vent became suddenly loud. Somewhere in the corridor, a cart squeaked past. Nora moved in her sleep and released a faint sigh.
Margaret tapped one crimson fingernail against the first page.
