Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN THE PARKING LOT
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the trench.
The wooden stick.
My husband's smile.
And then the baby moving beneath my hand.
At 6:17 a.m., the hospital room door opened.
A nurse entered.
“Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes?”
“There's someone asking for you.”
“Who?”
“She says she's your mother-in-law.”
My heart stopped.
“No.”
The nurse frowned.
“She says it's urgent.”
“Don't let her in.”
The nurse nodded.
Five minutes later, I heard Margaret's voice in the hallway.
“She is my daughter-in-law!”
A security guard responded.
“You need to leave.”
“She is carrying my grandchild!”
I closed my eyes.
Even now, she was making it about the baby.
Not me.
Not what happened.
The baby.
Then my phone vibrated.
A text.
You don't understand what your husband was trying to protect you from.
No name.
I stared at it.
Another message appeared.
Meet me outside. Alone.
I showed Claire.
She shook her head.
“Absolutely not.”
“I need to know who it is.”
“You can know from inside the hospital.”
“No.”
I looked toward the door.
“I need answers.”
Claire grabbed my wrist.
“You almost died yesterday.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like you're invincible.”
I looked at her.
“I don't feel invincible.”
I lowered my voice.
“I feel hunted.”
At noon, Detective Brooks arrived.
I showed him the messages.
“Don't respond.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever sent this knows you're here.”
He took a photograph of the screen.
Then he asked:
“Did your husband ever mention a private physician?”
I shook my head.
“Any doctor outside your regular OB?”
“No.”
“Any genetic testing?”
“No.”
He stared at me.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
He closed his notebook.
“Then we need to find out why your husband paid one.”
That evening, the detective brought me a name.
Dr. Aaron Vale.
A private genetic specialist.
My husband had visited him three times.
My mother-in-law had visited twice.
I stared at the photograph.
“Have you spoken to him?”
“He lawyered up.”
“Of course.”
“But we have records.”
“What kind?”
“Bloodwork. Genetic screening. Prenatal samples.”
I stared at him.
“Samples from whom?”
“Your husband submitted something under your name.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“What?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Find out.”
“We're trying.”
“No.”
I sat upright despite the pain.
“Find out now.”
Detective Brooks looked at me.
“Emily—”
“If someone submitted my blood under my name, I want to know what they were testing.”
He nodded.
“I'll see what I can do.”
At 11:42 p.m., my sister finally called.
I answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
Silence.
“Rachel?”
“Emily.”
Her voice sounded terrified.
“What happened?”
“I can't talk long.”
“Where are you?”
“I don't know who I can trust.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“I made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“I told someone about your plan.”
“Who?”
“I thought she was helping us.”
“Rachel!”
“She wasn't.”
My heart raced.
“Who was it?”
My sister whispered one name.
“Margaret.”
I closed my eyes.
“I knew it.”
“No,” Rachel said.
“You don't understand.”
“She knew about the house.”
“What?”
“She knew about the documents. She knew about the safe deposit box. She knew exactly when you planned to leave.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Then I heard something in the background.
A door closing.
Rachel gasped.
“Emily, I have to go.”
“Rachel, wait!”
“I love you.”
The line went dead.
I called back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then my phone buzzed.
A photograph had arrived.
It showed my sister sitting inside a car.
Her hands were bound.
And someone stood behind her.
May you like
The photograph had one sentence beneath it.
Stop asking questions.
