He’d stayed twenty minutes, standing by the foot of the bed while the nurse changed my IV bag.

He hadn’t brought any legal papers, no blue folder and no pen.

I hadn’t signed one single document that whole week.

I bent forward and ran my fingertips over the spot on the paper where my name had been forged in blue ink.

The wobbly cursive of my last name looked completely wrong held up to the pale afternoon light.

Whoever wrote it had tried to copy my handwriting, but they’d missed the smooth way my letters flowed into each other.