“You signed a document you did not read?”
“I was outside the operating room. They were taking you away. She said—”
“You signed something while I was bleeding?”
“I thought you were dying.”
The last word broke.
For a moment, I saw him as he had been hours earlier: pale, shaking, one hand pressed to the operating-room window while they wheeled me away.
Then another thought arrived.
“Why would the hospital give the form to your mother?”
Ethan looked at Margaret.
“She said Dr. Hale sent it.”
Dr. Miriam Hale had been my obstetrician for seven months.
She had delivered both twins.
She had never met Margaret.
A chill moved through me.
