Chapter 2 - The Hospital That Never Saw Emily
I handed my son to the nanny and ran.
By the time I reached the staircase, Caleb was already crossing the foyer.
“Caleb!”
He didn’t stop.
That answered every question I needed answered.
I took the stairs two at a time.
Caleb reached the front door.
I caught him outside.
He made it halfway toward his SUV before I grabbed the back of his shirt.
He spun.
“Get off me!”
“Why are you running?”
“I’m not.”
“You sprinted out of the house.”
“I need air.”
“Then breathe.”
He shoved me.
It was a mistake.
Not because I wanted to hurt him.
Because he had just confirmed how frightened he was.
I caught his wrist, turned him, and pressed him against the SUV without striking him.
“Daniel!”
Mother screamed from the doorway.
“Let him go!”
“Tell me why my son was born at Riverside.”
Caleb stopped struggling.
Mother stopped shouting.
There it was.
Silence.
The most honest thing either of them had given me.
“You said Emily died at St. Catherine’s.”
Mother came down the steps.
“There must be some mistake.”
“The hospital band is on his ankle.”
“Then the hospital transferred him.”
“From where?”
She said nothing.
Caleb tried to pull away.
I released him.
He stumbled backward.
“Go ahead.”
He stared at me.
“Leave.”
Caleb looked surprised.
“So you can stop me two miles down the road?”
“No.”
I held up my phone.
“So Elena can ask why you fled a possible crime scene.”
He stayed.
Thirty-six minutes later, two dark vehicles entered the driveway.
Elena stepped from the first.
She looked older than when I had last seen her.
So did I.
Her hair was pulled tightly behind her head.
Her expression was all business.
She hugged me once.
Briefly.
Then stepped back.
“Show me everything.”
I started with Emily.
Elena didn’t touch the body.
She photographed the room.
The coffin.
Emily’s hands.
The marks beneath her nails.
Then the hospital band.
She made one phone call.
“Riverside Women’s Medical Center?”
She gave her credentials.
“I need confirmation of an admission.”
Mother immediately protested.
“You cannot simply access private medical information.”
Elena looked at her.
“You’re right.”
Then she turned away.
“That’s why I’m requesting preservation of records while we obtain proper authorization.”
Mother went silent.
Twenty minutes later, Elena received a call.
She listened.
Her eyes found mine.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Riverside confirms Emily Mercer was admitted eleven days ago.”
My stomach tightened.
Eleven days.
Not three.
Mother had told me Emily went into labor three days ago.
Elena continued.
“She was admitted under a different surname.”
“What surname?”
Elena looked at Mother.
“Hale.”
My mother’s maiden name.
I turned toward her.
She closed her eyes.
“Why?”
Nothing.
“Why was my wife admitted under your maiden name?”
“I was protecting her.”
“From whom?”
Mother looked directly at me.
“You.”
For a moment, I thought I had misheard her.
“Excuse me?”
“She was afraid of you.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the lie was enormous.
“Emily emailed me every day.”
“She was pretending.”
“She begged me to come home.”
Mother hesitated.
I pulled out my phone.
“I have every message.”
Her confidence slipped.
Elena stepped between us.
“Daniel.”
I stopped.
She turned toward Mother.
“If Emily feared her husband, there should be documentation.”
“There is.”
That surprised everyone.
Mother crossed the room.
She opened a drawer.
Removed a folder.
And handed it to Elena.
Inside were photographs.
Emily.
Bruises on her arms.
A cut above her eyebrow.
And a signed statement.
My name appeared repeatedly.
Elena read silently.
Then looked at me.
The accusation was clear.
Domestic abuse.
Committed by Daniel Mercer.
Me.
May you like
There was only one problem.
I had been six thousand miles away when the photographs were dated.
