Instead, I found the first crack in a story I’d believed for eighteen years.
At the records desk, I slid the paper toward the woman.
“I need to find out where this came from.”
She studied it. “These records are from 2008?”
I found the first crack in a story.
“Yes. I gave birth here that year.”
She typed something into her computer. “Was your delivery complicated?”
“I hemorrhaged. I was sedated for part of it.”
She frowned at the screen. “Some records that old are archived off-site. I can request them.”
“How long?”
I gave birth here that year.
“Several days.”
“I can’t wait that long. Does anyone who worked in the maternity ward in 2008 still work here?”
She hesitated. “Susan. She’s a senior midwife now.”
The name tugged at something in my memory.
“Can I speak to her?”
