“I know.”
“I would’ve crawled through fire for him.”
“I know, Dawn.”
“Then why does he have our signatures?”
“I know, Dawn.”
Watson stared at the box. “What else is in there?”
I pulled out a copied form.
The words blurred at first. Medical release. Placement. Best interest. Extended care.
At the bottom was my signature.
It was thin, crooked, and barely mine.
Beside it was Watson’s.
“I don’t remember signing this,” I whispered.
“What else is in there?”
Watson took the page. His hands started to shake.
“I remember a clipboard.”
I looked at him. “What?”
“At the hospital, sweetheart. Your mother handed it to me. She said you had already signed. She said they needed mine so Rowan wouldn’t suffer.”
