At the bottom, on the line marked maternal consent for release of remains, my maiden name was written in blue ink.

The first letter was too tall, and the loop on the g was squared off at the bottom.

Paul had forged my signature while the nurses were changing my IV.

“He practiced it,” I said.

“He kept my old deposit slips in the garage cabinet.”

Sarah set her phone face down.

“I owe you an apology,” she said.

“I should have believed you about the attic.”