“Tell him to run a query on my husband’s active deployment files.”

“See if there are any pending allotment changes submitted in the last forty-eight hours.”

The specialist looked at Sergeant Miller.

Richard’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.

“This is ridiculous,” Richard said.

“We don’t need to drag the military administration into a family medical crisis.”

“If it’s a medical crisis, why did you bring a leather portfolio instead of a diaper bag?” I asked.

The room grew incredibly quiet.

The only sound was the steady hum of the infant warmer in the corner.

Sergeant Miller looked from me to my father.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Mr. Mitchell, please step out into the hallway for a moment,” Miller said.

“I have a right to be with my daughter,” Richard said.

His voice was hardening.

“Step outside, sir,” Miller repeated.

His hand rested near his duty belt.

Richard glared at me.

There was a silent promise of retribution in his eyes.

He turned on his heel and walked out.

The specialist followed him, closing the door halfway.

Sergeant Miller turned back to me.