Chương 8
“What kind of complaint?”
“A family believed their child’s records had been mixed up.”
Daniel felt Claire’s hand tighten.
“The other baby.”
Thomas nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at the folder.
“Was I the other baby?”
Thomas did not answer immediately.
That silence told Daniel more than he wanted to know.
“Thomas.”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
“You were not the child whose records were switched.”
Daniel exhaled.
He had not realized he was holding his breath.
“But your information was connected to the mistake.”
“How?”
Thomas opened the folder.
Inside were copies of old forms, letters, and medical documents.
He turned one page around.
“There were two families.”
Daniel looked down.
One name meant nothing.
The other name made his chest tighten.
Mercer.
His family name.
“Your parents were told there was an administrative error,” Thomas said.
“They were told the hospital had corrected it.”
“And it hadn’t.”
“No.”
Daniel stared at the documents.
“What did my parents know?”
Thomas looked at him.
“Enough to be afraid.”
“That’s not specific.”
“Because they were never given the full picture.”
Daniel almost laughed.
“That sounds familiar.”
Claire looked at him.
He ignored the sadness in her face.
Not because he did not care.
Because caring hurt.
“How did you know my father?”
Thomas folded his hands.
“We became friends after everything happened.”
“After you approved the records.”
Thomas nodded.
“Yes.”
“That must have been convenient.”
The words were harsher than he intended.
Thomas accepted them anyway.
“I deserved that.”
Daniel looked at him.
“You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Taking blame without actually explaining.”
Thomas looked toward the kitchen window.
“I thought if I admitted I was responsible, you would understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That I spent years trying to fix something I helped create.”
The answer surprised Daniel.
Not because it solved anything.
Because it sounded like regret.
Real regret.
The kind that did not ask for forgiveness.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
Thomas’s jaw tightened.
“Because your father asked me not to.”
Daniel stared.
“My father.”
“Yes.”
“He knew about you.”
“He knew everything I told him.”
“And he still died without telling me.”
Thomas looked down.
“He thought he was protecting you.”
Daniel shook his head.
“I’m tired of hearing that.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
His voice rose slightly.
Everyone became still.
Daniel hated that they looked at him like he might break.
He was not fragile.
He was sick.
There was a difference.
“I spent my entire life believing my father was honest with me.”
Thomas said nothing.
“I believed my family trusted me.”
His eyes moved to Claire.
“She did trust me.”
Claire looked down.
“But not enough.”
The words landed harder because he said them quietly.
Claire wiped at her face.
“I was wrong.”
Daniel looked away.
He wanted her to defend herself.
He wanted her to explain.
He wanted proof that she had a reason good enough to make the pain smaller.
But she did not.
“I was wrong,” she repeated.
“And I don’t know how to fix that.”
For some reason, that was harder to hear than an excuse.
Thomas slid the folder closer.
“There is something else.”
Daniel did not touch it.
“What?”
“The hospital contacted me three months ago.”
“Why?”
“They were reviewing old cases.”
“Why?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Because someone requested access to your records.”
Daniel felt the room change again.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said the hospital contacted you.”
“Yes.”
“And they didn’t tell you?”
“They said they could not disclose the person’s identity.”
Daniel stared.
“Why would someone request my records?”
Thomas looked at the folder.
“That is what I have been trying to understand.”
Claire spoke for the first time in several minutes.
“Could it have been the other family?”
Thomas looked at her.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel looked between them.
The fact that everyone was guessing bothered him.
He had expected a hidden truth.
A final answer.
Instead, he had found a room full of people holding pieces of a puzzle and pretending they had enough to explain the picture.
“What happens now?”
Thomas looked at him.
“That depends on what you want.”
Daniel frowned.
“What I want?”
“Yes.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“You have spent your whole life with other people making choices around this.”
The words were uncomfortable because they were true.
“You need to decide what happens next.”
Daniel looked at the folder.
He thought about opening it.
He thought about throwing it across the room.
He thought about going home and pretending he had never come.
All of those choices belonged to the old version of himself.
The man who believed avoiding pain was the same as surviving it.
“What else is in there?”
Thomas glanced at the papers.
“Medical history.”
“Mine?”
“Connected histories.”
Daniel waited.
Thomas continued.
“There are names you don’t know.”
“Names of people involved?”
“Yes.”
“Doctors?”
“Yes.”
“Families?”
Thomas nodded.
“Yes.”
Daniel felt his fingers move toward the folder.
Then he stopped.
“Why are you giving this to me?”
Thomas looked at him for a long moment.
“Because I should have given it to you years ago.”
The answer was simple.
Too simple.
Daniel did not trust simple answers anymore.
But he believed Thomas meant it.
That was almost worse.
A dishonest person was easier.
A dishonest person could be hated.
A regretful person left room for grief.
Thomas stood and walked toward a cabinet near the wall.
He returned with a small photograph.
He placed it on the table.
Daniel looked at it.
A hospital room.
A younger Thomas.
His father.
And a woman Daniel did not recognize holding a newborn baby.
His stomach tightened.
“Who is she?”
Thomas sat down.
“Her name was Laura Bennett.”
Daniel looked at Claire.
She shook her head.
“I don’t know her.”
Thomas looked at the photograph.
“She was the other child’s mother.”
Daniel stared.
“Was?”
Thomas’s expression changed.
“She died two years ago.”
The room became quiet.
May you like
Daniel looked at the photograph again.
A woman he had never met.
