I looked down at the folded paper in my hand.
Michael immediately reached for it.
“Emily, don’t.”
That was the moment I knew the nurse had not chased me down over something insignificant.
I stepped back and unfolded the page.
It was a copy of a note from the hospital social worker.
Michael’s name was at the top.
Underneath were details from a conversation he had with them earlier that morning while I was sleeping.
He had told them that I had already decided I didn’t want our son.
He claimed I was too emotionally unstable to make decisions and asked them to move forward with a permanent placement as quickly as possible.
Permanent.
Not temporary.
I stared at him.
“You told me we were only giving ourselves time to think.”
Michael went pale.
