“I hadn’t heard that first name in twenty-six years without feeling like someone had pressed a knife under my ribs. Holly. That was the name Ellie and I chose together. She wanted something pretty for Christmas because you were due in December. I wanted something strong enough to survive winter.”
I covered my mouth.
Gerald continued, softer now.
“I asked the nurse your date of birth. She wouldn’t tell me, of course. But then your mother said it while arguing. December seventeenth. And I knew.”
My birthday.
December seventeenth.
Not premature. Not random. Not simply mine.
Chosen.
“Why didn’t you say anything to her?” I asked.
“I did.”
His expression changed then. The gentle warmth faded, replaced by something harder.
“I asked her if she remembered Gerald Maize.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“What did she do?”
“She went white. Like all the blood drained out of her. Then she told security I was harassing her.”
I almost laughed, but it came out as a dry cough that made my stitches scream.
Gerald reached for the water cup and held the straw to my lips. It was such a simple gesture. So careful. So fatherly.
I drank and hated that I wanted to cry again.
“Dr. Reeves said you stopped her,” I said.
