Seven months after our divorce, I rushed into St. Jude’s Children’s and Women’s Hospital, still angry at my ex-wife, only to learn that she had just given birth to twin boys, and both of them were mine. Before the night was over, a nurse would place a brass key in my hand and tell me to use it before my own family arrived. And what was waiting for me beyond that was even more shocking.

I looked straight at Nurse Florence.

Florence slowly shook her head.

“Sylvia came in through the emergency room doors late last night with no family contacts listed on her chart,” Florence clarified.

“She had my personal private cell number,” I noted.

“She had it written on a small slip of paper in her wallet,” Florence explained.

“Along with an old home address.”

“What address?” I asked, looking from one to the other.

Nurse Florence glanced at Sylvia, leaving the answer to her.