I interrupted, noticing how the name William felt like lead on my tongue.
“My husband was with the baby. He said it was a boy, that he was small, that he needed an incubator. I was sedated, very weak. I didn’t see him until later.”
Dr. Reed’s face transformed. Confusion gave way to slow understanding, and then to an alarm she tried and failed to conceal.
“Mrs. Hayes—Charlotte—I left for a research fellowship in the U.K. the day after your delivery. I was gone for almost two years. The residents fill out the final paperwork, but I supervise and sign the initial delivery report. I signed a report for a female infant. No question about it.”
She lowered her voice, leaning in a little.
“If they told you it was a boy, that’s not confusion. It’s impossible for me to be mistaken about something like that.”
The hum in my ears became a deafening roar. Everything around me—the smell of antiseptic, the comings and goings of nurses, the fluorescent lights—seemed to recede, leaving me alone in a resonant empty space echoing with those words. Impossible. Girl. Female.
“Do you have a copy of that report?” I heard my own voice ask from a great distance.
She shook her head, apologetic.
“Not personally. It would be in the hospital archives, but you’d need authorization or a court order. Listen,” she added, seeing my pale face, “maybe there was a clerical error after I left. Sometimes, with the chaos of emergencies—but my memory is very clear. It was a girl.”
At that moment, the door to the exam room opened. Ethan came out pulling at the sleeve of his sweater with a bored look.
“Can we go now? This is a drag.”
Dr. Reed looked at Ethan. She studied him from his expensive shoes to his disdainful expression. Then she looked back at me, and in her eyes I saw the last vestige of doubt vanish, replaced by something more solid and terrible. The certainty that something monstrous had happened in her delivery ward. Her mouth opened as if to say something more, but she held back.
“Ethan, go to the car now.”
The order was automatic. He shot me a venomous look, but, surprised perhaps by my tone, obeyed, dragging his feet.
I turned back to the doctor.
“Thank you for your precision, Doctor.”
“I’m sorry for the trouble, Charlotte. Wait—”
She reached out a hand, but I was already turning away. I walked down the hall with my back straight, my heels clicking on the linoleum in a perfectly controlled rhythm. Each step was a hammer blow inside my skull, echoing the words: girl, impossible, I delivered the baby girl.
In the car, Ethan wouldn’t stop complaining.
“What did that old lady want? Does she know you? She seemed nuts.”
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