The alarms from the fetal monitor filled Room 418.
Nurses rushed through the doorway as another gripped the emergency call button.
“Labor and delivery emergency!” one shouted. “Possible abdominal trauma!”
My mother stepped backward, her face draining of color.
“It was just a slap,” she stammered.
No one answered her.
A physician pushed past everyone and immediately examined me as another nurse checked the monitor.
“My baby…” I gasped.
“We’re taking care of her,” the doctor said. “Stay with us.”
Then Evelyn Hart stepped forward.
She held the ivory folder against her side with the calm confidence of someone who had spent years walking into impossible situations.
Two hospital security officers positioned themselves between my parents and my bed.
My father pointed toward Evelyn.
“This is private. She’s interfering with a family matter.”
Evelyn didn’t even look at him.
She looked at the officer.
