Chương 2
Daniel looked at Lauren.
Her face had changed.
Not because she understood what was happening.
Because she understood that someone else now had control over something they had waited years to hold.
“We just had her,” Lauren said.
“I know,” Marissa replied.
“No, you don’t.”
The sharpness in Lauren’s voice surprised everyone, including herself.
She looked away immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
Marissa softened slightly.
“I know this is overwhelming.”
Daniel noticed Lauren hated that word.
Overwhelming.
It was the kind of word people used when they wanted to make pain sound temporary.
Their pain was not temporary.
Their daughter was lying between them.
The first morning of her life was happening right now.
“I need the name of the person who reported the issue,” Daniel said.
Marissa’s expression changed.
“We can’t provide that information at this stage.”
“Why?”
“Because the review is ongoing.”
“Is someone saying I’m not her father?”
Nobody answered.
That was answer enough.
The baby began crying.
A small, uncertain cry that immediately pulled Daniel away from the conversation.
He stood and gently rocked her.
“Hey,” he whispered.
His voice broke slightly.
“I’m right here.”
The crying slowed.
Lauren watched him with tears gathering in her eyes.
For years, she had seen Daniel worry that he would not know how to be a father.
He had grown up with a father who left before he was old enough to remember his voice, and he carried that absence like an old injury that never fully stopped hurting.
He never talked about it unless someone asked.
Even then, he answered too quickly.
“He was just gone,” Daniel would say.
Like a missing person report.
Like a fact that belonged to someone else.
But Lauren knew better.
She knew how often he checked locks before bed.
She knew how hard it was for him to throw away old things.
She knew he saved every birthday card because he believed people leaving was easier when there was less proof they had once been there.
The baby’s crying faded into quiet breaths.
Daniel sat back down.
Marissa stood.
“I’ll give you some privacy.”
Daniel almost stopped her.
He wanted answers more than privacy.
But he also knew Lauren needed a moment where nobody watched them react.
After the door closed, Lauren looked at him.
“Did you know anything about this?”
The question hurt more than he expected.
“What?”
“Daniel.”
“No.”
She held his gaze.
Not accusing.
Afraid.
“I’m not asking because I think you did something.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because I’m scared.”
That answer took the fight out of him.
He sat beside her.
“I’m scared too.”
They stayed quiet for a while.
The baby slept between them.
A television in the hallway played softly through the wall, someone discussing traffic conditions neither of them cared about.
Daniel looked at the clock.
It was strange how time moved differently after a child arrived.
Before today, an hour was an hour.
Now every minute felt like something he could either protect or lose.
A nurse came in twenty minutes later with another set of forms.
She was younger than Daniel expected, with a tired expression and a pen tucked behind her ear.
“I need signatures for the temporary review,” she said.
Daniel looked at the papers.
Temporary review.
Another phrase designed to sound smaller than it was.
“What exactly are we signing?”
The nurse paused.
“Authorization for continued verification.”
“Does signing this mean we agree there’s a problem?”
“No.”
“Does refusing mean you keep our daughter here longer?”
The nurse looked uncomfortable.
“I don’t make those decisions.”
Daniel hated how often that sentence appeared in a hospital.
People made decisions everywhere.
They just rarely admitted they were the ones making them.
Lauren reached for the pen.
Daniel covered her hand gently.
“Wait.”
She looked at him.
He looked at the forms again.
Then at their daughter.
The tiny face.
The tiny fingers.
The entire future he had imagined but never believed would actually arrive.
Something about the paperwork felt wrong, not because of what it said, but because of what it represented.
A system had turned his first moment as a father into a question mark.
“I’m going to sign,” Lauren said quietly.
Daniel looked at her.
“I know.”
“Because I want her home.”
He nodded.
“Me too.”
He signed his name beneath hers.
The pen scratched against the paper.
A small sound.
Almost nothing.
But when he handed the forms back, the nurse looked at the page longer than she should have.
Daniel noticed.
“What?”
She quickly looked away.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
The nurse swallowed.
“There was just something else.”
“What?”
She glanced toward the door.
“I probably shouldn’t say.”
Daniel felt the same cold feeling return.
“Please.”
The nurse lowered her voice.
“The person who contacted records said the information problem may not have started here.”
She stopped.
Daniel waited.
“What does that mean?”
The nurse looked at the sleeping baby.
“It means someone entered different information before you ever arrived at this hospital.”
Daniel stared at the nurse, waiting for the rest of the sentence that she seemed afraid to finish.
“Who entered it?” he asked.
The nurse looked down at the forms in her hand.
“I don’t know.”
“You said someone entered different information.”
“I said that’s what I heard.”
“From who?”
Her lips pressed together.
“I really shouldn’t have said anything.”
Daniel felt the frustration rise in his chest, but the baby shifted against him, and the anger had nowhere to go.
He lowered his voice.
“I’m not trying to get you in trouble.”
The nurse looked at him for a moment.
“That’s what everyone says when they’re trying to get someone to tell them something.”
There was no accusation in her tone.
Only exhaustion.
Daniel understood that she had probably spent years watching people arrive in hospital rooms carrying fear, anger, and impossible expectations.
He softened slightly.
“I just need to know if someone made a mistake before my daughter was even born.”
May you like
The nurse looked toward Lauren.
Then at the baby.
