"Go away," I called, my voice rough.
The pounding stopped. Then the scrape of something against my doormat.
I waited until the footsteps retreated before dragging myself off the couch and opening the door. The early morning airwas crisp, autumn finally making itself known. At my feet sat a manila envelope, my name written on it in Sadie's careful handwriting.
My hands shook as I picked it up.
I should go inside. Should sit down. Should prepare myself for whatever was in here.
Instead, I sank down onto my front step, right there in my wrinkled clothes from yesterday, and opened the envelope.
The first thing I pulled out was a birth certificate.
Certificate of Live Birth
Name:Casey Marie Honors
Date of Birth:March 17
Time:2:47 AM
Weight:8 lbs 3 oz
Length:20 inches
Mother:Palisade Honors
Father:Unknown
Unknown.
Two words that erased me from her life. Made me a ghost. A blank space where I should have been.
My throat closed up as I stared at that single word. Unknown. Like I was nothing. Like I didn't exist.
Except I did exist. I'd been living my life, playing hockey, dating women, completely oblivious that somewhere in New Hampshire, Sadie had been going through labor alone. Had anyone been with her? Holly must have been there, right? Someone must have held her hand while she screamed.
I should have been there.
The thought was a knife in my chest, twisting.
I pulled out the next document. Hospital records from the birth. Every detail I should have known, documented in clinical language.
Admitted at 11:32 PM. Water broke at home. Labor progressed normally. Epidural administered at 1:15 AM. Delivery at 2:47 AM. Healthy baby girl.
Mother and infant were discharged two days later in good condition.
Two days. Sadie had spent two days in the hospital with a newborn, then gone home to what? An empty apartment? Had Holly stayed with her? Had Sadie's parents been there?
Had anyone helped her during those first terrifying weeks?
The next papers were newborn screening results. Blood type O-positive (O+). Same as mine. Hearing test: passed. With all the little boxes checked, confirming Casey had been perfect and healthy from the start.
And I'd missed all of it.
There was one more thing in the envelope. A photo, slightly bent at the corners, like it had been carried in a wallet for a while before Sadie had given it up.
I pulled it out and couldn't breathe.
