I felt nauseated.
"Are you saying someone did that to me?"
"I'm saying the second injury happened after you were already inside the hospital."
I looked again at my father's signature.
My father, Dr. Thomas Bennett, had been a respected physician for more than thirty years.
He was the man who taught me to ride a bicycle before I lost my sight.
The man who read books aloud when I could no longer read them myself.
The man who held my hand through countless appointments and told me never to stop hoping.
And now his name appeared on the document authorizing the procedure that might have taken away my vision.
"Did my father know?" I whispered.
Dr. Harris looked uncomfortable.
"The signature appears genuine."
That was not the answer I wanted.
But it was the answer I had feared.
***
I called my mother first.
She answered cheerfully.
"Sarah, sweetheart! How are your eyes today?"
