Everything after that had dissolved into a blur.
I looked at Watson.
“I need the old folder.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
He followed me into the hallway while music continued pounding from the backyard.
I pulled the plastic storage bin from the closet and emptied the hospital paperwork across our bedroom floor.
Watson knelt beside me.
“What are we looking for?”
“Proof that Rowan died.”
His hands went still.
I found Riley’s discharge documents.
Rex’s feeding records.
Condolence cards.
The funeral receipt my mother had handled because I had barely been able to stand.
But there was no death certificate.
Mom had always told me the official documents were stored safely in her fireproof box.
“Watson.”
He stared at the empty section of the folder.
“There’s nothing,” I said.
“Maybe Peggy kept it.”
“Of course she did.”
Then I found Doctor Jefferson’s old business card.
Something had been handwritten on the back.
