“Of course she did.”
Then I found Doctor Jefferson’s old business card.
Something had been handwritten on the back.
“I hope one day you find peace with the decision made for Rowan.”
Watson read it twice.
“Decision?”
“That’s what I thought.”
His eyes moved toward the placement form lying on the bed.
I grabbed my keys.
“We’re going to Doctor Jefferson.”
Watson stood.
“Now?”
“Right now.”
Doctor Jefferson looked much older than I remembered.
His receptionist initially tried to stop us, but I held up Rowan’s hospital bracelet.
“Tell him it’s about the baby he told me was dead.”
A minute later, after she showed him the bracelet, he opened his office door.
I placed it on his desk.
“Where did this come from?”
The expression on his face changed instantly.
“Where did you get that?”
“From my son.”
His eyes dropped toward the copied form in my hand.
“I want Rowan’s records,” I said.
“There are procedures, Dawn.”
“Then get me the form.”
“Dawn, I can’t discuss this without proper paperwork.”
“Fine. Answer one question.” I leaned toward him. “Did Rowan die?”
Doctor Jefferson slowly lowered himself into his chair.
“Rowan was critically ill.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
He folded his hands.
“He stabilized after the transfer.”
I gripped the edge of his desk.
“You told me he died.”
“I was told you understood the placement option. Your mother said the private placement had already been discussed with the social worker.”
“By me?”
He looked away.
That answer was enough.
“By my mom,” I said. “Right?”
Watson’s voice broke.
“We buried him.”
Doctor Jefferson swallowed.
“Your mother arranged the memorial. I was told you and Watson understood there would be no viewing.”
“The family?” I asked. “Or her?”
He said nothing.
I stared at him.
“Did you ever ask me, without my mom in the room, if I wanted my son placed with another family?”
Doctor Jefferson lowered his gaze.
“No.”
“Did you ask Watson?”
“No.”
“Then you never confirmed consent,” I said. “You had a grieving woman’s signature and my mother’s version of grief.”
