The handle slowly began to turn.

The handle clicked, slipping downward.

I held Tommy tighter against my chest, my elbow locking into place.

A uniform sleeve appeared in the gap of the opening door.

It was the base security officer Lena had called earlier, his hand resting near his duty belt.

Behind him stood Claire Donnelly, holding a folder of printouts and a large paper cup of black coffee.

“He’s gone, Rachel,” Claire said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.

“Your father left the parking lot five minutes ago.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Did security get his license plate?” I asked.

“They did,” Claire replied, pulling up a chair. “But legally, he hasn’t committed a crime on federal property yet.”

“He’s using my deceased grandmother’s identity to draw benefits,” I said, my voice flat. “That is a federal crime.”

“And we are going to prove it,” Claire said.

She set the folder on my overbed table.

Lena walked in next, carrying a stack of discharge papers and a plastic basin filled with newborn supplies.