His voice trembled.
"And someone came to speak with me."
I leaned forward.
"Who?"
"Dr. Adrian Voss."
I frowned.
I remembered the name.
He'd been the senior obstetrician at the hospital.
A distinguished man with silver hair and expensive suits.
Zane continued.
"He told me our daughter was very sick."
My heart stopped.
"Our daughter?"
He nodded.
"The baby you delivered."
I couldn't breathe.
"What happened to her?"
Zane began crying.
"He said she wouldn't survive."
I covered my mouth.
"And?"
"He said there was another newborn who needed a family."
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
"What did you do?"
Zane's face collapsed.
"I signed the papers."
***
I couldn't speak.
My husband had apparently agreed to take home another woman's child while I was unconscious.
He'd let me believe the baby in my arms was the daughter I'd delivered.
And he'd kept that secret for nearly three decades.
