His voice stayed in that same calm, low register.

“Your husband brought Hannah to their intake desk on October second.

The doctor on duty noted severe upper quadrant tenderness and ordered blood work.”

I looked at the date.

October second was five weeks ago to the day.

“Richard told me she’d eaten bad cafeteria food,” I said.

Hannah folded her arms tight across her chest.

She pulled her hands up into her blue fleece sleeves.