“Emily?” she asked.

I stood up immediately. “Yes.”

She handed me the folder. “These are the original intake and discharge papers from Westside Clinic, dated October 1987.”

The paper felt brittle, smelling of dust and damp basement air.

I sat down at a small laminate table in the corner of the room.

The boys were quiet, watching a cartoon on the wall television.

I snapped the rubber band off the folder.

The top page was a patient chart with my mother’s name, Helen Vance, written in faded blue ink.

Beneath it was a sonogram report.

The diagnosis box was checked: *Incomplete spontaneous abortion.*

But scribbled in the margin in red ink was a single word: *Retained.*

My heart hammered against my ribs.

They knew.

I turned the page to find the discharge authorization form.

The signature at the bottom was written in a thick, arrogant scrawl.

I stared at the name printed beneath the line.

Dr. Arthur Carter.

Arthur Carter was Daniel’s father, the patriarch who had built the Carter Medical Group from a single private clinic into a multi-million dollar healthcare empire.