My hands began trembling.
"Without telling Mom?"
Dad hesitated.
Then looked directly at me.
**"Your mother had already signed documents associated with that research program."**
The room seemed to spin.
"What?"
"She had been approached by people connected to the project before your accident."
I shook my head.
"No."
Dad looked devastated.
"I'm sorry."
"Mom would never have agreed to something dangerous."
"She was told the research offered extraordinary possibilities. I don't know what she understood when she first signed."
I stared at him.
"But why would she sign anything before I got hurt?"
Dad's expression darkened.
"That's the question that troubled me for twenty years."
***
He showed me a consent form.
My mother's signature appeared at the bottom.
The date was twelve days before the playground accident.
I read it twice.
*Preliminary pediatric vision research screening.*
My name appeared beneath the heading.
I felt cold.
"What is this?"
"An enrollment screening document."
