“Why didn’t you ask the doctor?”

“Because I was afraid of the answer.”

I stood with the phone pressed to my ear and stared at the dimly lit hospital courtyard.

I understood fear.

I had been afraid when Mason was born, afraid when his father left, afraid when our parents died.

But I had kept showing up because there had been no other choice.

“You made yourself an expert through search results,” I said, “and then you handed your daughter back because of what you imagined.”

“I know how it looked.”