Chương 11
“That he was sorry. That he had Daniel’s tag. That there was a letter. That I could hate him after I listened.”
“Did he say what Daniel’s last words were?”
“No.”
“Do you want to know?”
Hannah’s answer was immediate. “No.”
Then, after a silence, “Yes.”
The baby’s infection began to improve on the third day.
Her blood pressure stabilized. Feedings resumed in tiny amounts through a tube. The swelling in her abdomen decreased. She continued to have apnea episodes, though fewer than before.
Hannah was transferred from cardiac intensive care to a step-down unit. She could visit the NICU twice a day and hold her daughter for thirty minutes with assistance.
The first time Claire placed the baby against Hannah’s chest, Hannah stopped breathing.
“Your turn,” Claire reminded her gently.
Hannah inhaled.
The infant rested beneath her chin, cap tilted, oxygen tube secured. Hannah’s arms formed a loose circle around her.
“She weighs nothing.”
“Two pounds, three ounces this morning.”
“That’s not nothing?”
“Correct.”
Hannah watched the baby’s face. “She looks angry.”
“Most premature infants look mildly offended.”
“Daniel looked like that in every military photo.”
The baby’s mouth opened in a silent yawn.
Hannah smiled. The expression lasted only a moment before fear returned.
“What if she remembers all this?”
“She will not form memories of the unit the way you do.”
“What if her body remembers?”
Claire considered the question.
“Bodies learn,” she said. “They also adapt.”
“That sounds like something printed on a brochure.”
“It probably is.”
Hannah looked up. “You don’t always have to answer.”
“I know.”
“You answer anyway.”
“It’s a professional defect.”
For a while they listened to the monitors.
Then Hannah said, “I want the letter.”
Tessa retrieved it from the hospital safe. The evidence sleeve had been signed across the seal by three staff members. She brought it to a private consultation room near the NICU and documented the transfer.
Hannah sat at the table in a wheelchair. Claire remained near the door at Hannah’s request.
The envelope was softer than it had looked through plastic. Hannah ran one thumb over her name.
“That’s his handwriting,” she said.
She did not open it.
Five minutes passed.
Tessa asked, “Would you like us to leave?”
“No.”
Another minute.
Hannah placed the envelope flat on the table.
“I can’t.”
“You don’t have to today,” Claire said.
“What if it says he was leaving me?”
“Then it has said that for eight months whether you read it or not.”
Hannah looked at her sharply.
Claire regretted the bluntness but did not retract it.
“What if it says he knew about the baby?” Hannah asked.
“Did you tell him?”
“I recorded a message the night before he died. I deleted it without sending.”
“Then he could not have known from that.”
“I left a voicemail for his chaplain a week earlier. I panicked and said it was a mistake. Maybe the chaplain told him.”
“Would that have been permitted?”
“I don’t know.”
Tessa folded her hands. “The only way to learn what the letter contains is to open it. The only decision required now is whether you are ready to know.”
Hannah picked at the sealed edge.
It tore unevenly.
Inside were two sheets of folded notebook paper. Hannah unfolded the first. Her eyes moved across three lines, stopped, and returned to the beginning.
She made no sound.
Claire watched her fingers tighten until the paper shook.
“What does it say?” Tessa asked.
Hannah handed her the first page.
Tessa read silently, then passed it to Claire.
Hannah—
I got your message from Chaplain Torres. I know you said it was a mistake, but you don’t leave a message like that by mistake. If you’re pregnant, I need you to tell me, even if you hate me right now. Especially then.
Claire looked at Hannah.
“He knew,” Hannah whispered.
The second page was longer.
Daniel apologized for borrowing money without telling her, for reenlisting when he had promised to wait, and for telling his parents that Hannah had caused the distance between them. He admitted he had been drinking again before deployment and had hidden it. He wrote that if the pregnancy was real, he wanted to come home and be useful, though he did not know whether wanting deserved anything.
The final paragraph was shorter.
Ransom is driving everybody crazy about tomorrow’s route. He thinks he’s right because he usually is, which is his worst habit. I think he’s wrong. I’m going to argue again in the morning. Don’t make him into a monster if something happens. He already does that himself.
Hannah read the sentence twice.
Then she pushed the paper away.
“No.”
Claire did not move.
“No,” Hannah repeated. “He doesn’t get to write that.”
“Daniel?” Tessa asked.
“Yes. He doesn’t get to tell me who to blame.”
“No,” Tessa said. “He doesn’t.”
Hannah struck the table with the heel of her hand. The sound was small.
“He knew I was pregnant. He knew, and he still went.”
“He may not have had a choice about the deployment,” Claire said.
“He had a choice about going back into that vehicle.”
None of them answered.
Hannah folded forward, pressing both hands against her forehead. “He always did this. He’d make the decent choice so nobody could be angry at him for the stupid one before it.”
Claire looked down at Daniel’s letter.
It was not a noble farewell. It was an argument interrupted. A man admitting just enough and asking for more time he would never receive.
Tessa gathered the pages only when Hannah nodded.
“Do you want to keep them?” she asked.
“They’re mine.”
“Yes.”
“Make copies.”
“For the court?”
“For me. I might tear them up.”
Tessa nodded.
Hannah wiped her face with the sleeve of her hospital gown. “I need to speak to Earl.”
Claire felt tension move through her shoulders.
“You don’t have to,” she said.
“I know.”
May you like
“We can arrange a phone call. Or have security present.”
“In person.”
