“She wants the room number.”
He looked up.
“Did she say why?”
“She says she wants to be nearby.”
Daniel reached for another screw.
“I thought she was just trying to help after delivery.”
I put the phone beside the mail stack.
“She asked for a house key
this morning.”
“I know.”
“Now she wants the room number.”
He lowered the screwdriver.
“I should have realized those were connected.”
I watched him fit the hinge back into place.
“What did she tell you yesterday?”
“That she wanted to make things easier.”
“Did she mention Leo?”
Daniel paused.
“She said the family should have a chance to be close to him.”
“Only Leo?”
He looked at me.
“She said the twins.”
“That is not what you heard.”
“No.”
He turned the screwdriver again.
“I heard Leo.”
The cabinet door shifted slightly when he tested it.
“Daniel.”
“I know.”
He sat back on his heels.
“She keeps talking as if she has a place already decided for him.”
I picked up my phone.
“That is why I am not giving her the room number.”
Daniel nodded.
“Okay.”
Then his phone lit up on the table.
He reached for it.
“She
is asking again.”
I held out my hand.
“Do not answer yet.”
He stopped with his fingers above the screen.
The message disappeared.
“She says she left an envelope for you.”
“Where?”
“With me.”
I looked at the envelope in his hand.
It was thicker than a birthday card.
“What is inside?”
“I do not know.”
“Then open it.”
He turned it over, and my name was written across the front.
“Elena,” he said, “this does not look like help.”
I took the envelope.
The flap had already been loosened.
Inside was a blue hospital folder.
I pulled it free.
Daniel leaned over the table.
“Is that a hospital form?”
I opened the folder just far enough to see several pages covered in formal language and blank lines near the bottom.
I closed it.
“This is not a birthday card, Daniel.”
His hand stopped on the cabinet handle.
“What does
