“Did you intend to submit this document?”
A long silence followed.
Lily’s lips parted. “I don’t know.”
It was the most honest answer anyone in that family had ever given me.
Chief Mike stepped forward. “Lily Whitfield, you’ll need to come with us and make a statement.”
She nodded.
As she passed my bed, she stopped.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I looked down at my twins.
“No,” I said. “You’re afraid.”
Her face crumpled.
“That isn’t the same thing.”
They took her out after that.
The room emptied slowly, leaving behind the smell of antiseptic, old flowers, and ruined secrets.
Only Ethan, Daniel, the nurse, my twins, and I remained.
For a while, no one spoke.
Then Ethan sat in the chair beside my bed and bent forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped like prayer.
“I didn’t sign it,” he said.
“I know.”
His head snapped up.
The answer had escaped me before I could stop it, but it was true. I knew Ethan’s signature. I had seen it on mortgage papers, birthday cards, grocery receipts, and hastily signed notes left on the kitchen counter. The signature on that form had been close, but too smooth. Too practiced.
A forgery.
That did not make him innocent.
“You didn’t believe me,” I said.
His face folded inward.
“I thought you were scared.”
“I was.”
“I thought my mother was being overbearing.”
“She was building a market for our child.”
He flinched.
Good.
Daniel cleared his throat. “Judge Mercer, security is moving you to a protected wing for the remainder of your stay. The hospital administrator has agreed to restrict all visitors pending your approval.”