He described the woman.
Dark coat, short hair, a rolling bag.
He described the sound.
“Like a kitten,” he said. “But a person kitten. Dad zipped up his jacket over the envelope really fast when he saw me, and he told me to go back to Grandma, and his face was scared, Mom. Not sad. Scared.”
Second, I called the hospital and asked for a copy of my complete medical records and my daughter’s.
The woman on the phone was kind and efficient, and then she paused.
“Ma’am, I’m showing your records here, but for the infant — I’m sorry, I’m only seeing an intake and then a transfer notation. The rest would have been handled through the… the paperwork your husband processed. There’s a name here. A private agency. Not one of ours.”
“A private agency,” I repeated.
“Meadowbrook Placement Services,” she read. “That’s — ma’am, that’s an adoption agency. That doesn’t seem right for a—”
