is asking again.”
I held out my hand.
“Do not answer yet.”
He stopped with his fingers above the screen.
The message disappeared.
“She says she left an envelope for you.”
“Where?”
“With me.”
I looked at the envelope in his hand.
It was thicker than a birthday card.
“What is inside?”
“I do not know.”
“Then open it.”
He turned it over, and my name was written across the front.
“Elena,” he said, “this does not look like help.”
I took the envelope.
The flap had already been loosened.
Inside was a blue hospital folder.
I pulled it free.
Daniel leaned over the table.
“Is that a hospital form?”
I opened the folder just far enough to see several pages covered in formal language and blank lines near the bottom.
I closed it.
“This is not a birthday card, Daniel.”
His hand stopped on the cabinet handle.
“What does
