At the top, in dark letters: IN THE PROBATE COURT OF BELLMONT COUNTY.
Underneath: AFFIDAVIT OF BIRTH MOTHER.
“I, Michelle Gilchrist, affirm that I have had no contact with, and no knowledge of the whereabouts of, my child, Kieran Gilchrist, born November 10, 1995, and I do not oppose the Trustee’s Petition for Final Distribution of the Edna Gilchrist Trust.”
I read it twice.
The second time, I said the name out loud.
“Kieran.”
Behind my father, the surgeon flinched like I had touched a bruise.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
“Kieran,” I said.
His whole face changed.
“I’ve never heard anyone say it,” he said. “Not once. Not in my entire life.”
My mother’s voice cracked across the room like a dropped plate.
She set her Birkin on the foot of my bed, hard enough to make the frame shudder.
“Anyone can buy a silver cross at a pawnshop, Michelle. That man is after your money.”
