Chapter 1 - TWO WRISTBANDS
Three hours after giving birth, I could barely walk straight.
Ryan still thought it was a good time to make me sign papers.
I had Nora pressed against my chest beneath a white hospital blanket as I moved slowly down the maternity corridor at St. Catherine Medical Center.
She was less than a day old.
Warm.
Sleepy.
Her tiny cheek tucked against me.
I was trying to make it back from the lactation room without asking for a wheelchair when Ryan stepped out from beside the nurses' station.
He had papers in one hand.
A pen in the other.
“Claire.”
“Not now.”
He moved directly into my path.
“You need to sign this.”
“I said not now.”
His hand closed around my arm.
Hard.
I instinctively tightened the other arm around Nora.
“Ryan.”
He shoved the papers toward me.
“Sign it. You’re leaving without her.”
For a second, I thought I had misheard him.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Nora moved against my chest.
I stepped backward.
“Let go.”
“Claire, stop making this difficult.”
“You're hurting me.”
He pulled me toward him.
That was when Mason came around the corner.
My older brother did not ask what was happening.
That was a problem with Mason.
Sometimes also the reason I called him.
He saw Ryan's hand on my arm.
Crossed the distance.
And punched him.
Ryan went down on the polished floor.
Hard.
Someone at the nurses' station shouted.
Mason stepped between us.
“Touch her again.”
Ryan stared up at him.
Blood showed at the corner of his lip.
“You just assaulted me.”
Mason's voice stayed low.
“Call somebody.”
“Mason.”
I said his name because I was holding a newborn in the middle of a hospital fight.
Not because Ryan hadn't deserved to be stopped.
Mason looked at me.
His anger shifted.
He reached inside the dark jacket he had thrown on before coming to the hospital.
“I found this in the family consult room.”
He handed me a second folder.
Hospital label.
My name.
CARTER, CLAIRE — MATERNITY
Ryan saw it.
His expression changed.
“Don't give her that.”
Mason looked over his shoulder.
“Why?”
“Because it's not complete.”
I opened it.
There were standard downtime forms inside.
Newborn monitoring sheet.
Transfer notes.
A yellow patient-identification report.
Then something clipped to the inside cover.
Two newborn wristbands.
I stared.
One carried Nora's temporary hospital number.
The same sequence wrapped around her ankle.
The other did not.
Different number.
Different surname.
BENNETT, BG
I looked down at Nora's ankle.
Then at the second band.
“Why are there two?”
Mason didn't answer.
Ryan did not either.
But his face told me something worse than confusion.
He knew.
I looked at him.
“What is this?”
The maternity-room door behind us opened.
A pair of polished dark shoes stepped into the corridor.
Dark trousers.
The man's face remained beyond the angle of where I stood.
Ryan looked at him—
and went pale.
The unseen man stopped.
“Because there were two babies.”
Every sound in the hallway seemed to disappear.
May you like
I looked down at my daughter.
And for the first time since the nurse placed Nora in my arms, I was afraid to ask the question forming in my head.
