A soft knock came from the door.

Nurse Maeve stepped inside carrying paperwork.

“Whenever you’re ready, we can get the baby’s information filled in. No rush.”

I looked at the clipboard.

“My husband stepped out. Can we wait a little?”

She gave me a curious look but nodded.

“Of course.”

She left the forms on the tray and walked away.

The blank line for the baby’s name seemed suddenly enormous.

About ten minutes later, my mother rushed into the room carrying yellow tulips.

“Olivia! Oh my God, look at him!”

She kissed my forehead.

Then Owen’s head.

Then me again.

Her mascara was already smudged.

“Where’s James? I want to congratulate him.”

My stomach tightened.

“He stepped out.”

Mom frowned.

“Stepped out where?”

“I don’t know.”

She stopped smiling.

Then her expression changed.

“Olivia…”

“What?”

“I think I saw him.”

My heart started pounding.

“Where?”

“In the parking lot.”

She sat down beside the bed.

“I was pulling into a space when I saw a man who looked exactly like James getting into the passenger seat of a car.”

I stared at her.

“There was another man driving. He was wearing some kind of uniform. I didn’t recognize him.”

“What kind of car?”

“I don’t know. But there was a sticker on the back window.”

She hesitated.

“I think it said hospice.”

“Hospice?”

“I could be wrong.”

But I barely heard that part.

I was stuck on the fact that James had left the hospital with someone I didn’t know.

Then I told her the other part.

“He told me not to fill out the birth certificate.”

Mom’s face hardened.

“He what?”

“He said to wait until he came back.”

Her mouth tightened into the expression I remembered from childhood.

“Olivia, listen to me.”

“Mom…”

“No. You listen. That man does not get to walk out of this room and dictate what you put on your son’s paperwork.”

“Please don’t.”

“You write Owen’s name down right now.”

“Mom.”

“I have lived this story.”

Her voice cracked.

“I know where it ends.”

I knew exactly what she meant.

My father had abandoned her shortly after I was born.

She had signed my paperwork alone.

And ever since then, she saw pieces of him in every man who behaved unexpectedly.

Even James.

Nurse Maeve returned and gently moved the clipboard closer.

Then she left us again.

Mom picked up the pen and handed it to me.

“Write his name.”

My fingers shook.

—

The blank line waited.

My mother’s hand rested on my knee.

I could hear the faint sound of elevators in the hallway.

I had no idea whether the next person through the door would be James—or proof that my marriage had just ended.

My phone buzzed.

A message.

James.

On my way back. Please trust me.

That was all.

Mom read it over my shoulder.

“Trust him?”

Her voice sharpened.

“Olivia, sign the paper. Give the baby your name.”

“Mom.”

“No man disappears on the day his son is born and then tells his wife what she can and can’t write.”

I looked down at Owen.

His tiny mouth opened slightly as he slept.

Mom leaned closer.

“You didn’t see him leave. I did. He was completely calm.”

“Please stop.”

“Men who are hiding things can look very calm.”

Nurse Maeve entered again.

“Still no rush, but if we get the name today, it’ll make the paperwork easier.”

“My husband is coming back,” I said.

She nodded and left.

Mom pressed the pen into my hand.

“Do it.”

I brought the tip toward the line.

And then I stopped.

Because suddenly, several memories came rushing back.

James awake at two in the morning with the laptop.

The envelope from a law firm I had never heard of.

A conversation I overheard in the garage weeks earlier.

James speaking quietly into the phone.

“Her son deserves to know the truth.”

At the time, I thought he was talking about our unborn child.

Now I wasn’t sure.

“Olivia,” Mom said. “Why aren’t you signing?”

I put the pen down.

“I’m waiting.”

She stared at me.

“You’re exhausted. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“No.”

I looked at her.

“I think I’m thinking clearly for the first time today.”

She shook her head.

“If James has done something—”

“If I’m wrong about him, I can be angry later.”

I took a breath.

“But if I write something out of fear or spite before I know what’s happening, I might regret it forever.”

Mom fell silent.

Finally, she sat back.

“You sound like me when I was your age.”

I looked at her.

“Maybe I don’t want to become you after what happened.”

That hurt her.

I could see it.

But she didn’t argue.

The minutes dragged.

Four o’clock passed.

Then 4:30.

My mother stopped talking and began tapping her fingernail against the chair.

At five, Owen stirred and fussed before settling again.

The afternoon light outside the hospital window slowly turned golden.

At 5:43, I heard the elevator down the hallway.

Then footsteps.

Then something else.

The soft squeak of wheels.

A wheelchair.

The door opened.

James stood there.

His eyes were swollen and red.

He looked as though he had been crying for hours.

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