I stared at her. “You remember his name?”
She went still.
Then she slowly closed the door. “What happened?”
I placed the copied adoption record in front of her.
Susan read it.
I need to ask you about the night my son was born.
Her face lost all color. “Where did you get this?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Rachel…”
“Please. Was there another baby born that night connected to me?”
She sat down.
Susan read it.
Her silence was answer enough.
I whispered, “Tell me.”
Susan looked genuinely frightened. “I need to be careful. I can tell you what I personally remember, but you need the official records for anything beyond that.”
“Fine.”
“You were extremely weak after delivery.”
Was there another baby born that night connected to me?
“I remember.”
“You’d lost a lot of blood. You kept asking for your glasses.”
My throat tightened. “They broke.”
