But then I noticed another folded paper at the bottom of the drawer.
This one wasn’t addressed to me.
It was a printed message from a fertility clinic.
Dear Mrs. Miller,
We have attempted to reach you regarding the status of your stored specimen and pending consent forms. Please contact our office as soon as possible to discuss next steps.
Stored specimen.
Pending consent forms.
My mind raced backward through the years.
After the second miscarriage, Sophie’s doctor had briefly mentioned genetic testing and fertility options. We had been too devastated to continue the conversation. Or maybe I had been too devastated. Maybe Sophie had listened to more than I knew.
I took a photo of the letterhead but left the paper where it was.
Then I drove back to the hospital with Sophie’s clothes, her charger, and the letter tucked safely in my jacket pocket.
When I arrived, she was awake.
The afternoon sun fell across her blanket. She looked tired, but there was more color in her face than before.
“You read it,” she said.
I nodded.
She watched me carefully.
“I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you.”
“I’m sorry you had to write it.”
