Eight months ago.
When I was newly pregnant.
When Michael had begun asking too many questions about my medical appointments.
When he had insisted we switch doctors.
When he had started bringing me herbal sleep tea at night.
My hands tightened around Lily.
Dr. Brooks continued carefully.
“It may be innocent.”
But his eyes told me he didn’t believe that.
I didn’t either.
Rachel whispered, “Catherine…”
I looked down at my daughter.
A daughter Michael had not come to meet until it was useful.
A daughter whose birth may have interrupted something far darker than an affair.
That night, at Rachel’s house, while Lily slept beside my bed, I opened my old laptop and searched through months of emails.
Receipts.
Pharmacy charges.
Insurance forms.
Then I found a message buried in a folder Michael had created under the name Tax Documents.
It was from Amber.
Subject line: After delivery.
My pulse roared in my ears.
I opened it.
There were only two sentences.
Once the baby is born, Catherine becomes the obstacle. You promised me this would be handled before she found out.
Attached was a scanned document.
A custody petition draft.
And beneath it, another file.
A medical authorization form.
With my signature forged at the bottom.
I couldn’t move.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photo appeared.
Michael and Amber standing outside Rachel’s house.
Taken from across the street.
Then a message.
You should have answered when I called.
I grabbed Lily from the bassinet and screamed for Rachel.
Outside, through the rain-streaked window, a black car idled under the streetlamp.
And in the back seat, barely visible through the tinted glass, Amber Collins smiled while holding a pink baby blanket I had never seen before.
PART 3: The Final Storm
Rachel burst into the room before my scream even faded from the walls.
Behind her came David, his laptop still open in his hands, his face turning an ash-gray color as he saw the terror in my eyes.
“They’re outside,” I choked out, pressing Lily so tightly against my chest I could feel the rapid, frantic rhythm of her tiny heart. “Michael. Amber. They’re right outside.”
