I stood so quickly my chair scraped the floor.
“No.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I didn’t believe it either.”
“My daughter died.”
“I know what they told you.”
“I have her death certificate.”
Nora covered her mouth.
“My daughter died.”
I walked to the sink and gripped its edge.
Outside, a delivery truck stopped at the neighbor’s house.
Someone laughed on the sidewalk.
I could hear every ordinary sound while the words on that report refused to make sense.
Someone laughed on the sidewalk.
Finally, I turned around.
“Does Ellie know?”
“No.”
“Does Tom?”
“Yes. He’s the one who insisted we shouldn’t tell her anything until it’s checked properly.”
I returned to the table.
“Is this result certain?”
“Does Ellie know?”
“It’s preliminary. They want an independent test and a full review of the records.”
“Then we don’t know.”
Nora nodded.
“We don’t know everything.”