The doctor slowly shook his head.
“No, ma’am. Your daughter didn’t die.”
The room seemed to spin around me.
“What…?”
“We found records in the hospital’s old archives. Your daughter was born alive. But two days later, she was placed for adoption.”
I turned toward Robert.
He lowered his head.
“Did you know?”
He began sobbing uncontrollably.
“I… I signed the papers.”
It felt as though someone had driven a knife straight through my heart.
“YOU?”
Robert was crying.
“We were poor. I didn’t want the responsibility of raising a child. They told me a wealthy family would adopt her. I thought…”
“You told me my daughter was DEAD!”
He couldn’t answer.
For the first time in fifty years, I raised my voice.
“YOU STOLE MY BABY FROM ME!”
The doctor gently took my hand.
“Mrs. Margaret, please listen. That’s not the whole story.”
