“Mom, we have to leave. Now,” she said, her voice shaking.
I tried to push myself upright, pain flaring through my body. “Emily, what are you saying? I just gave birth.”
Instead of explaining, she pressed a folded sheet of paper into my hand. “Please, Mom. Read this.”
My fingers trembled as I unfolded it. It wasn’t discharge paperwork or a bill. It was an internal hospital document—clearly not meant for patients. My name, Laura Bennett, was printed at the top. Beneath it were notes, timestamps, and one line that made my stomach drop:
“Medication error during delivery. Potential complications if reviewed. Recommend early discharge. Do not notify family.”
I stared at Emily. “Where did this come from?”
“I was charging my phone near the nurses’ station,” she said quickly. “Someone left it in the printer. I saw your name and… I took it.”
My heart began to race. During labor, something had felt off—the sudden wave of dizziness, the nurse who panicked and disappeared, the doctor who brushed off my questions afterward.
