“I had to know, Mr. Whitmore,” Ruth said. “I found a hospital wristband from five years ago, hidden in her jewelry box.”

She reached into her coat pocket.

Ruth’s hand emerged from her heavy wool coat.

She held a small piece of faded pink plastic.

I took it from her trembling fingers.

The material was stiff and yellowed at the edges.

I squinted at the faded blue ink printed on the band.

*Claire Bennett. Patient ID: 44092. Date of Delivery: October 14th.*

October 14th.

It was the exact day Lucas and Owen were born.

My thumb brushed against the printed letters.

The ink was slightly smudged, but the numbers were clear.

“What is this, Ruth?” I asked.

My voice sounded hollow in the quiet hallway.

“She was here, Mr. Whitmore,” Ruth said.

She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.

“She was in this very hospital five years ago.”

“At the exact same time Evelyn was admitted.”

I shook my head, trying to make sense of the words.

“Evelyn was in the oncology ward,” I said.

“She was fighting for her life.”