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“There’s nothing,” I said.
“Maybe Peggy kept it.”
“Of course she did.”
But there was no death certificate.
Then I found Doctor Jefferson’s old card with a message written on the back:
“I hope one day you find peace with the decision made for Rowan.”
Watson read it twice. “Decision?”
“That’s what I thought.”
He looked at the copied form on the bed.
I grabbed my keys. “We’re going to Doctor Jefferson.”
Watson stood. “Now?”
“Right now.”
“We’re going to Doctor Jefferson.”
***
Doctor Jefferson looked older than I remembered. His receptionist tried to stop us, but I held up Rowan’s bracelet.
“Tell him it’s about the baby he told me was dead.”
A minute later, after the receptionist showed him the bracelet, he opened his door.
I placed the bracelet on his desk. “Where did this come from?”
His face changed.
“Where did this come from?”
“Where did you get that?”
“From my son.”
He looked at the copied form in my hand.
“I want Rowan’s records,” I said.
“There are procedures, Dawn.”
“Then get me the form.”
“Dawn, I can’t discuss this without proper paperwork.”
“I want Rowan’s records.”
“Fine. Answer one question.” I leaned forward. “Did Rowan die?”
Doctor Jefferson sat down slowly. “Rowan was critically ill.”
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