“Kirsten signed everything,” he said.
Kenneth looked at him. “Did she?”
The silence that followed had weight.
Melinda opened her eyes. “Connor.”
“Be quiet,” he snapped.
The baby flinched.
I saw it. So did Melinda. So did Kenneth.
For the first time, anger warmed me from the inside—not wild anger, not messy anger, but something clean and protective.
“Don’t speak like that in front of him,” I said.
Connor laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Don’t tell me how to talk to my son.”
My son.
Again.
Kenneth removed another page. “The storage facility provided copies of authorization forms. Kirsten’s signature appears on documents approving transfer and release.”
I stared at him.
“My signature appears?”
“Yes.”
“But I never signed anything.”
“I know,” Kenneth said.
The room tilted.
