For several seconds, the words meant nothing.
Inside was a signed acknowledgment of paternity from before my birth.
Then my chest tightened.
“No.”
Eric slid a file toward me.
Inside was a signed acknowledgment of paternity from before my birth, copies of letters my mother had returned unopened, and a recent genealogy match.
Nathan had found me through the database.
Years earlier, I had submitted my DNA while looking for relatives on my mother’s side.
Nathan had found me through the database.
“He confirmed your identity and learned where you volunteered,” Eric said. “He chose that hospice because of you.”
My stomach turned.
“He arranged everything.”
“Yes.”
I stood so quickly my chair struck the wall.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“For all six weeks?”
“Yes.”
I stood so quickly my chair struck the wall.
“Nathan believed you would refuse to see him if you knew.”
“You let me pretend he was a stranger.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Nathan believed you would refuse to see him if you knew.”
“That was my choice.”
“He threatened to refuse treatment and remove me from every medical decision if I told you.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
Eric lowered his eyes.
“He threatened to refuse treatment and remove me from every medical decision if I told you. I told myself he was dying. I told myself six weeks of comfort would hurt less than the truth.”
I wanted him to defend himself.
