“That’s impossible. We went to every appointment together.”
“Not every appointment.”
The words hit me harder than anything the doctor had said upstairs.
I remembered one morning when my husband, Brian, told me the clinic had called to reschedule. He had insisted he would handle it because I was exhausted.
I had never questioned him.
The nurse continued carefully.
“There was a follow-up consultation. He attended without you.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“Why would he hide that from me?”
“I don’t know everything,” she said. “But I heard him arguing with the doctor earlier. He said he didn’t want you told during the pregnancy because he was afraid you would panic.”
My mouth went dry.
“So he decided for me?”
The nurse said nothing.
That silence was answer enough.
Anger burned through the shock.
I had just made the biggest decision of my life while standing on top of a lie.
I turned toward the hospital.
Then the nurse said something else.
“There’s another problem.”
I stopped.
“What?”
She hesitated.
“Because you signed the relinquishment paperwork, social services has already been contacted.”
My heart pounded.
“They’re going to take them?”
“They’re trying to place them.”
“Together?”
The nurse looked down.
That was when I knew.
