Azalea

The signature was unmistakably mine—every loop and curve exactly as I’d written it a thousand times before. But I had never seen these documents in my life.

“This isn’t possible,” I whispered, my voice breaking as I stared at the papers. The room felt like it was spinning around me. “NO. I didn’t sign any of this.”

Mr. Lucky, the hospital director, barely looked up from his desk. “Miss De Luca, you signed everything we required. As you can see, your ...