Melinda’s tears fell onto the baby’s blanket.
“From the clinic coordinator. From the storage facility. Messages forwarded to an account Connor thought I didn’t know about.” She looked at me then. “There were scanned documents. Payment confirmations. And a message about your signature needing to match the previous consent form more closely.”
My stomach turned.
Connor’s voice was low. “You went through my email?”
Melinda gave a broken little laugh. “That’s what you care about?”
He said nothing.
“Where are the emails?” Kenneth asked.
“Saved,” Melinda said. “Printed. And with someone else.”
Kenneth’s eyes sharpened. “Who?”
“My sister.”
Connor stared at her as if he no longer recognized her.
For the first time since he had stepped into that hallway with his rehearsed cruelty and proud smile, he looked genuinely afraid.
