It was yellowed at the edges, the texture brittle like old parchment.
It had been folded so tightly that the creases were nearly white.
“Is it a note?” Grace asked, leaning forward.
“It is a document,” Emily said, her eyes scanning the small print as I laid the paper flat on the table.
“Look at the typed header.”
I smoothed the creases with the side of my thumb.
The top right corner had been torn away, leaving a jagged edge where a name or a signature should have been.
“Savannah General Clinic,” I read aloud.
“There is a code at the bottom,” Emily said, her finger tracing the typed letters.
“Discharge code four-twelve-B. And look at the date.”
The date was October twelfth, eighteen years ago, printed in faded blue ink that had bled slightly into the soft paper.
“That was three days before you found us on the beach,” Grace said, her finger tapping her palm.
