One was not.
It looked ordinary at first. A medical authorization form. My signature sat at the bottom, shaky but unmistakably mine. Ryan’s name appeared in a section marked authorized representative.
Dad read it twice.
“This gives him access to medical information,” he said.
“That’s bad?”
“Not unusual for spouses. But this attachment…”
He lifted the second page.
I had no memory of signing it.
The language was dense, legal, and carefully phrased. It mentioned decision-making authority in the event I was incapacitated. It mentioned neonatal care. It mentioned temporary guardianship.
Temporary guardianship.
My hands went cold.
“I didn’t know,” I whispered.
Dad’s face had turned pale with controlled anger. “This needs an attorney.”
By breakfast, Ruth had contacted one.
By noon, we were in the office of Margaret Ellis, a family law attorney with sharp eyes and a voice that made panic feel less useful. She reviewed the forms while I sat across from her, one hand on my belly, the other gripping Dad’s sleeve like I was five years old again.
