I remembered calling him.
I remembered
wanting him there.
I remembered my mother saying he had finally shown up.
But did I remember seeing him?
A headache began behind my eyes.
“Claire,” Priya said gently, “did you have complications during delivery?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“I lost consciousness.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Several hours.”
“And who was making medical decisions while you were unconscious?”
“My mother.”
“Anyone else?”
I shook my head.
Then stopped.
There had been someone.
A man in a dark jacket talking to a nurse in the hallway.
I had only seen him for a second before they wheeled me toward surgery.
At the time, I assumed he was hospital staff.
But now, suddenly, I could see his profile.
The heavy brow.
The silver hair.
Richard.
Tyler’s father.
My breath caught.
“I saw him.”
“Who?”
“Tyler’s father.”
Priya went still.
“At the hospital?”
