I took my fingers off my wedding band.

“Five weeks ago,” I repeated.

Dr.

Vance gave a nod.

“There’s a note in the file saying the father specifically turned down the surgical consult at that time and took her home,” he said.

I turned toward Hannah on the exam table.

She was staring down at her lap, her face flushed red against her pale skin.

She pulled her blue fleece sleeves down past her thumbs.