“Six weeks,” she said again, more softly now.

I read the form over her shoulder.

Walter’s signature sat at the bottom in dark blue ink, steady and sure, dated eight months before he died.

“He signed this on a Tuesday,” I said.

“I remember it.

He called that night to ask how the baby was sleeping.”

Helen kept her finger on the page.

“Then we let the judge read Walter’s statement, and we let them learn what he knew.”