I looked at my sister. She couldn’t meet my eyes.
The hospital room suddenly felt too small, too bright. My newborn daughter made a soft sound in her sleep, and I instinctively held her closer.
“You called my baby trash,” I said quietly. “And now you’re here asking me for help.”
Patricia broke then. “Melanie, please. If those records come out, I could lose everything. My house. My reputation. Vanessa’s job. We need you to sign a refusal. Today.”
I exhaled slowly and looked at the pink gift bag on the chair. Cheap tissue paper. A stuffed bunny. A performance.
“You should leave,” I said.
Vanessa stepped closer. “Mel, listen. We were upset yesterday. We said terrible things. But we’re family.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Family?”
My voice rose before I could stop it.
“Family doesn’t call a newborn trash. Family doesn’t steal from a daughter. Family doesn’t leave her alone in labor while her husband disappears.”
That caught Vanessa’s attention. “Wait. Daniel didn’t come?”
I froze.
Until that moment, I hadn’t let myself think too hard about Daniel. He had been distant for weeks—working late, guarding his phone, avoiding conversations about money. When my contractions started, I called him six times. He texted once: In a meeting. Will come ASAP. Then nothing.
