Benedict stared at my eyes—hollow, drained of every last spark of life—and a knot of unease tightened in his chest. He strode toward me, eager to make amends. "Phoebe, don't worry. I'll call the hospital right now and make sure the doctors are giving our daughter the best care."

He dialed. On the other end, a nurse answered as though she'd just heard the most absurd thing in the world. "Layla Young? That baby died right after she was born. You're her father, and you didn't even know?"