Daniel didn’t look at him.
He placed the first document on the rolling tray beside my bed. Ms. Reed picked it up. Tyler stayed still, watching my mother.
“This is the original custody order from DuPage County,” Daniel said. “Joint legal custody. Alternating weekends. Holidays split. I never signed away anything.”
My mother’s lips parted.
The security officer shifted his weight.
Daniel placed down another paper.
“These are certified copies of contempt filings. Missed exchanges. Returned letters. Address changes I wasn’t told about.”
Another paper.
“These are child-support records. Paid every month until the court froze the account because she reported Ethan missing from my household records.”
My skin prickled under the hospital blanket.
Missing.
I had not been missing. I had been eating cereal for dinner in the same kitchen where Mom told me my father couldn’t be bothered to send twenty dollars.
Ms. Reed’s face had gone very still.
“Mrs. Miller,” she said, “is this your signature?”
Mom looked at the paper.
For once, she did not answer quickly.
Greg looked at her.
That was the first time I saw fear reach him.
Not guilt.
Fear.
Because Greg could mock a sick kid. He could roll his eyes at vomit in a grocery bag. He could call me dramatic when my abdomen was tearing itself open.
But paperwork scared him.
Paperwork could be copied.
Paperwork could be filed.
Paperwork could outlive charm.
Mom recovered enough to lift her chin.
“Those documents are old. Daniel was unstable. I protected my child.”
Daniel’s hand tightened around the envelope, but his voice stayed low.
“You told him I abandoned him.”
“I told him the truth he could handle.”
“No,” I rasped.
Everyone looked at me.
