It made no reference to the pregnancy by name.

Miriam telephoned the number on the letterhead.

A receptionist confirmed that the office had handled the communication but would not discuss the instructions behind it.

“It’s unusually cold,” Miriam told me, “but it isn’t the same as a legally binding determination of parentage.

You should consider a formal filing when the child is born.”

I did consider it.

I considered it while looking at baby clothes, while lying awake with morning sickness, while the investment statements from my divorce arrived in neatly addressed envelopes.

I was afraid of turning my daughter’s first years into a contest against a family that already believed I had taken too much.