The elevator ding never sounded so loud like a gunshot.
Mrs. Laurent's scream from downstairs - French accent gone, pure panic - made both of us jump apart. My muddy black funeral dress was still stuck to Adrian's muddy black shirt where we hugged, threads pulling.
"JULIA! ADRIAN! COME QUICK! VANESSA IS LIVE AND SHE SAYS BABY NAME!"
Adrian's hand grabbed mine, tight, possessive, not letting go even though his own hand was still holding old paternity paper from two years ago, the one that said Positive 99.9% and Baby lost at 14 weeks.
We ran. Barefoot both, muddy footprints on white floor, black office to white living room, where Mrs. Laurent stood holding her own iPad with both hands, her silver bun messy for first time ever, her red lipstick smudged from biting lips.
Attorney Sarah w
