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
