Chương 8
“He knows about the marriage certificate,” Claire said.
“He knows Hannah showed us a photograph. He’s arguing that we haven’t authenticated it.”
“Can he win?”
“He can cause trouble.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No court is taking a premature infant out of intensive care and handing her to a grandparent. The issue is who makes decisions if Hannah deteriorates.”
“Her husband is dead.”
“She can designate someone.”
“She said she has no one.”
Tessa scrolled farther. “Robert nominated himself.”
Claire read the next paragraph. Earl Ransom’s name appeared in the affidavit as evidence of Hannah’s poor judgment and alleged association with dangerous individuals.
“He called Earl dangerous.”
“He attached a copy of the complaint he filed after Daniel’s death.”
“Does it say what happened?”
“It says Earl ordered the convoy onto an uncleared route despite objections.”
Claire stared at the words.
Tessa locked the tablet. “We do not know whether the allegation is true.”
“Earl implied it was.”
“Implication is not fact.”
“Daniel told Hannah they argued about the road.”
“Still not fact.”
“What would satisfy you?”
“An incident report, witness statement, official finding, or Earl admitting it without dressing guilt up as evidence.”
Claire thought of him in the lobby, unable to close his coat.
“Why does Robert care whether Earl is associated with Hannah?” she asked.
“Because guardianship cases are stories told under oath. He wants his story cleaner.”
“What does Hannah want?”
“To keep everyone away.”
“That is not the same as having a plan.”
“No.”
Through the office window, Baby Girl Reed’s monitor alarmed again.
Claire reached the incubator before the respiratory therapist. The baby’s oxygen saturation had fallen into the sixties. Her heart rate followed.
The team moved with practiced precision. Airway positioning. Stimulation. Increased support. Assessment of color, chest movement, breath sounds. The infant’s skin turned dusky around the mouth.
“Positive-pressure ventilation,” the neonatologist ordered.
Claire fitted the tiny mask and began controlled breaths.
For thirty seconds, the numbers refused to respond.
Then the chest rose more evenly.
The heart rate climbed.
Claire felt sweat beneath her scrub top. Her hands remained steady.
When the crisis passed, she stepped back and realized Hannah was watching through the video tablet mounted beside the incubator. Someone in cardiac ICU had connected the call moments before the alarm.
Hannah’s face filled the screen.
“Is she dead?” she asked.
“No,” Claire said.
The word came too sharply. Claire pulled off her gloves.
“No. She is breathing. Her heart rate recovered.”
Hannah stared at the staff around the incubator. “I saw you put the mask on.”
“She needed help.”
“I should be there.”
“You cannot safely come yet.”
“She almost died without me.”
“She did not almost die because you weren’t here.”
“How do you know?”
Claire stopped.
Hannah’s eyes shone with anger. “Everyone keeps telling me what isn’t my fault. Nobody tells me what I can do.”
The neonatologist moved into view of the screen and explained the infection, respiratory support, and treatment plan. Hannah listened, asked two questions, and then returned to the one no physician could answer.
“Who can stay with her?”
“We have nurses at the bedside,” Claire said.
“All the time?”
“We continuously monitor her.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Claire looked at the empty padded chair beside bed seven.
The volunteer program was temporarily restricted from assigning anyone to the infant without Hannah’s approval. Robert and Marlene were barred from visitation. Hannah could not leave cardiac ICU.
The baby had medical attention. She did not have family touch.
“I can authorize a staff member to hold her when she’s stable enough,” Claire said.
“You?”
“Yes.”
Hannah studied her face on the screen.
“You’re working.”
“I can do it after my shift.”
“Why?”
Claire looked at the infant beneath the incubator light.
“Because you asked what you can do,” she said. “You can choose who sits with her.”
Hannah’s gaze moved away.
“Not Earl.”
“I understand.”
“Anybody but him.”
That evening, after the unit quieted, Claire changed into a clean disposable gown and sat beside bed seven. Talia helped place the baby against her chest.
Claire had held hundreds of premature infants over the years. Most belonged to parents who needed instruction, reassurance, or a few minutes to shower. She had never confused professional familiarity with ownership. The babies passed through her arms and returned to lives she rarely saw.
Baby Girl Reed weighed less than the chart in Claire’s lap.
Her fever had begun to decrease, but her breathing remained irregular. Claire supported the tiny head and watched the monitor.
“You have made a mess,” she murmured.
The baby shifted.
“Not you. The adults.”
A nurse across the unit laughed quietly at something on a computer screen, then covered her mouth. A cart wheel squeaked in the corridor. Snow tapped against the frosted window with a dry sound like sand.
Claire remained until nearly midnight.
When she placed the infant back in the incubator, one scarless finger caught in the edge of her gown and held for a moment.
Claire freed it carefully.
On the drive home, she stopped at a twenty-four-hour grocery store and bought bread, milk, and laundry detergent. At checkout, she realized she had left her wallet in her work bag. The young cashier waited while Claire searched every pocket twice.
“It happens,” he said.
“Not usually to me.”
“That sounds worse.”
She found the wallet under the detergent and laughed in spite of herself.
At home, she opened the letter from her divorce attorney. It contained a proposed division of the final shared property: the dining set, a storage unit, two framed photographs neither spouse wanted to claim.
Claire placed the pages face down and went to bed without removing her socks.
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The next day, Hannah’s blood pressure improved enough for a supervised twenty-minute visit to the NICU.
The transport required cardiac monitoring, a nurse, an orderly, and coordination between two units. Hannah arrived in a wheelchair wearing a hospital gown beneath a blanket, her oxygen tank clipped to the back. She looked smaller than Claire expected.
