Chapter 6 - THE HEARING
The custody hearing was scheduled for Monday.
My husband appeared in court wearing a dark suit.
Clean.
Calm.
Almost gentle.
If someone had seen him that morning, they would never have believed what he had done in the garden.
His attorney painted me as unstable.
“Your Honor, my client is deeply concerned about the mother's emotional state.”
I sat silently.
My attorney stood.
“We have evidence contradicting nearly every allegation.”
The judge looked toward us.
“What evidence?”
“Audio recordings.”
My husband's expression changed.
For the first time, he looked at me.
I didn't look away.
The recording was played.
His voice filled the courtroom.
“You thought you could leave me?”
Silence.
Then another recording.
“Tell her you fell.”
Another.
“You're not taking my child.”
The judge listened.
Nobody moved.
Then came the sound of the stick hitting the mud.
My husband lowered his head.
His attorney whispered something.
The judge stopped the recording.
“I've heard enough.”
My husband's lawyer stood.
“Your Honor—”
“No.”
The judge looked at him.
“I will not make a custody determination today.”
Then he looked at my husband.
“But I will be issuing a protective order.”
My husband finally lost his composure.
“She's lying!”
The judge's voice sharpened.
“Mr. Carter, you are one interruption away from being removed.”
He sat.
I exhaled.
But the judge wasn't finished.
“There is also evidence of forged legal documents.”
My husband's face went pale.
“Forgery?”
My attorney placed the custody agreement on the table.
The judge studied it.
“Who witnessed this?”
“His mother.”
The judge looked toward Margaret.
She was sitting behind him.
Her face had gone white.
“Mrs. Carter, you may want to consult an attorney.”
Margaret began crying.
But I didn't feel sorry for her.
Not anymore.
After court, Detective Brooks met me outside.
“We found Robert.”
“Where?”
“Airport.”
“Is he leaving?”
“He tried.”
My heart raced.
“Did you stop him?”
“Yes.”
Then Brooks handed me a folder.
“We found his financial records.”
I opened it.
Hundreds of transactions.
Payments.
Transfers.
Medical bills.
Legal fees.
Adoption agency deposits.
And one payment that made me stop breathing.
A payment to a hospital.
The date was six months before my pregnancy.
“What is this?”
Brooks looked at me.
“That payment was made to the fertility department.”
I stared at the page.
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
Then I noticed the patient's name.
Not mine.
Not my husband's.
Margaret's.
I looked up.
“Why was my mother-in-law at a fertility clinic?”
Brooks didn't answer.
He simply said:
“That's what we're trying to find out.”
That evening, Robert finally talked.
Not to the police.
To me.
He called from detention.
“I can explain.”
I almost hung up.
“Then explain.”
“You've been lied to.”
“By whom?”
“Everyone.”
“What were you planning to do with my baby?”
Silence.
“Robert.”
“I wasn't planning to hurt you.”
“My husband buried me alive.”
“I know.”
“You helped him.”
“I helped protect the family.”
“What family?”
He took a breath.
“The Carter family.”
I waited.
Then he said:
“Your husband isn't the only one who has been lying about your baby.”
My heart stopped.
“What does that mean?”
“You need to ask your mother-in-law who your husband really is.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Then I remembered the fertility records.
Margaret's name.
The genetic testing.
The adoption documents.
May you like
And one horrifying possibility.
Maybe my husband wasn't the person I thought he was.
