He did not touch her.
He simply sat there.
My parents arrived before dawn.
My mother carried a bag with clothes and toiletries. My father looked older than he had the week before.
I showed them the article about Dr. Vale.
My mother sat down after reading the surgeon’s name.
“Adrian Vale,” she whispered.
“You remember him?”
“Of course.”
My father took the article.
His hands trembled.
“That man saved Ethan.”
“Did you know he had a daughter with Down syndrome?” I asked.
My mother closed her eyes.
“His wife was pregnant during Ethan’s recovery. He said tests showed the baby might have Down syndrome.”
She looked through the hospital window at Clara.
“That baby was Clara.”
My father lowered himself into a chair.
“I offered him money,” he said. “Everything we had.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me to go home and raise my son.”
My father stared at the floor.
“He said Ethan’s life did not belong to him. It belonged to Ethan.”
A nurse entered the hallway.
“Clara would like to see Natalie.”
Ethan stood.
“She asked to speak to you alone.”
He walked past me without meeting my eyes.
Clara lay beneath a white blanket, one hand resting over her stomach.
“The baby is still inside,” she said.
