Michael blinked.
“That can’t be right.”
“One was Michael James Carter.”
The doctor paused.
“The other was Michael Carter. No middle name.”
My husband stared at the papers.
“I’m the second one.”
“I believe so.”
My heart started racing again.
“Then whose diagnosis was it?”
“The infertility diagnosis appears to belong to Michael James Carter.”
Michael slowly sat back down.
“So I was never told I couldn’t have children?”
The doctor hesitated.
“That is where this gets complicated.”
She pulled out another page.
“According to this note, someone contacted the clinic shortly after your appointment and requested that your records be mailed to your family home.”
Michael looked confused.
“My mother handled all my medical paperwork back then.”
The doctor nodded.
“Then you need to ask her what happened.”
That afternoon, we drove straight to his mother’s house.
She opened the door smiling.
Her smile vanished when she saw the folder in Michael’s hand.
“Mom,” he said, “who is Michael James Carter?”
She froze.
It was subtle.
But I saw it.
Michael saw it too.
“Who is he?” he repeated.
His mother stepped aside.
“Come in.”
We sat around her kitchen table.
For almost a minute, nobody spoke.
Then she folded her hands together.
“There is something your father and I should have told you a long time ago.”
Michael’s jaw tightened.
