“They don’t have to believe me,” I said. “They just have to watch the tape.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.

The screen lit up.

There was a missed call from the ICU where Megan was recovering.

And then, the phone began to buzz in my hand again.

I pressed the button to answer the call.

I held the phone to my ear, keeping my eyes fixed on my mother.

“Jake,” the voice said.

It was Dr. Joseph from the intensive care unit.

“Megan is regaining consciousness,” he said.

“She is asking for you.”

My heart gave a hard thump against my ribs.

“I will be right there,” I whispered.

My mother watched me, her fingers twitching against the stolen papers she held.

“Who was that?” she demanded.

“Is she dead?”

The coldness in her voice made my stomach turn.

“No,” I said.

“She is awake.”

My mother’s face twisted into a mask of pure anger.

She took a step toward the incubator where our daughter lay.

“Get away from her,” I said.

I stepped into her path, my boots squeaking on the clean linoleum.