As Eleanor marched Lily toward the door, carrying the baby like a delicate package she wished she could discard, Lily turned back. Her eyes met Clara’s—a silent, desperate plea. Before Eleanor could pull her away, Lily mouthed two clear words, pointing quickly toward her mother: “It’s his.”
Clara watched them disappear down the hall, the words hanging in the sterile air: Michael, her brother, and the terrifying realization that Eleanor was protecting the incestuous father. Clara looked down at the discarded form, the name Michael and the word Brother staring back. The mother’s chilling cover-up and the daughter’s terrifying secret meant that baby girl was walking out the door and straight into danger. Clara knew she couldn’t let protocol stop her now; she grabbed her phone to call the social worker immediately.
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