Chương 11
Weakness was ugly, but familiar.
The message destroyed that version.
He had pushed forward when even Marlene hesitated.
“Was he making money?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“We don’t know the total yet.”
“Enough to matter?”
“Yes.”
That answer hurt in a new place.
Daniel had complained constantly about money.
Hospital bills.
Groceries.
The mortgage rate.
He had once yelled because I ordered prenatal vitamins from the expensive pharmacy instead of waiting two days for delivery.
“How much did one session make?”
Ortiz looked at her notes.
“One message references eight hundred dollars.”
I stared at her.
Eight hundred.
I remembered that night.
Not because I knew the date.
Because afterward Daniel had brought home Thai food.
I smelled basil and fried garlic through the attic door.
He and Marlene ate downstairs.
He came up later chewing gum.
“You knew this?” I asked.
Ortiz frowned.
“What?”
“Not you.”
I was speaking to someone who was not there.
Daniel.
Eight hundred dollars.
He had filmed me bleeding, then ordered dinner.
The bathroom door opened.
Claire came out after splashing water on her face.
Her mascara had run anyway.
She sat without speaking.
Ortiz’s phone buzzed.
She read the screen.
Then looked at me.
“They reached Elena.”
My heart began hammering.
“Is she coming?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She lives in Oregon now.”
“Will she talk?”
“She agreed to speak with investigators.”
I exhaled.
“What did she say about Marlene?”
“Nothing yet.”
“About Daniel?”
“Only that she remembers him.”
Claire gave Ortiz an incredulous look.
“That’s it?”
“That was an initial contact call.”
I understood suddenly what Ortiz had meant earlier.
Real cases did not unfold in speeches.
People had jobs.
Children.
Different time zones.
Old fear.
Lawyers.
Memory.
No one existed solely to arrive with the piece I needed.
“Don’t pressure her because of me,” I said.
Ortiz looked surprised.
“I won’t.”
“If she says no, she says no.”
“She already agreed.”
“I know.”
I rubbed my hands together.
“I just don’t want another woman getting dragged back into something because everyone needs my case cleaner.”
Ortiz nodded once.
“That’s not how I’ll handle it.”
I wanted to believe her.
I decided not to yet.
Dr. Feld returned with another physician and checked the monitors.
The contractions had not stopped.
They had become closer.
She asked about pressure.
Pain.
Fluid.
Bleeding.
I answered.
She examined me again.
When she removed her gloves, her expression was careful.
“You’re progressing.”
Claire gripped the arm of her chair.
“How much?”
Dr. Feld gave the number.
It meant little to me except that it was more than before.
“Can you stop it?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Gestational age, your condition, the baby’s status, and what we think caused the contractions.”
I looked at Ortiz.
“The drugs.”
“Possibly,” Dr. Feld said.
“Dehydration can contribute.”
“Can stress?”
“Stress doesn’t help, but I’m not going to blame this on you being upset.”
I appreciated her for that more than she knew.
“What happens now?”
“We continue monitoring and give medications that are appropriate for your situation.”
She explained what they were considering and why.
No guarantees.
No dramatic certainty.
Just risk balanced against risk.
I signed forms with a hand that barely looked like mine.
Claire watched the pen move.
“You always had terrible handwriting.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She shrugged.
“You do.”
I laughed once.
Then another contraction hit.
The laugh turned into a groan.
Claire stood beside me.
“Do you want my hand?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Halfway through, I reached for it anyway.
She gave it immediately.
Afterward she flexed her fingers.
“You’re stronger than you look.”
“I look terrible.”
“You do.”
I managed a weak smile.
She smiled back.
It lasted maybe two seconds.
Then Ortiz’s phone rang.
She stepped into the hallway to answer.
Through the glass panel in the door, I watched her turn away from us.
Claire followed my gaze.
“What now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to call Mom?”
“No.”
“She’s going to be furious.”
“I know.”
“At me too.”
“Probably.”
Claire sat on the edge of the chair.
“She called me twice yesterday.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That you were still being weird.”
I closed my eyes.
“Great.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to keep saying that.”
“I know.”
“She asked whether Daniel was treating you okay.”
My eyes opened.
“What did you say?”
“That he seemed stressed.”
Of course he had.
Daniel had probably performed stress beautifully.
Concerned husband.
Overwhelmed caregiver.
Pregnant wife withdrawing from everyone.
It was a story designed for people who already loved us.
“What else?”
Claire looked guilty.
“I told her to give you space.”
I stared at her.
“She wanted to come.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“Last month.”
“And you told her not to?”
“Yes.”
Anger came so fast I felt heat under my skin.
“You stopped her?”
Claire stood.
“I thought I was respecting what you wanted.”
“You thought wrong.”
“I know that.”
“She might have found me.”
“And she might have done exactly what I did.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
The words snapped between us.
Dr. Feld glanced from the monitor to our faces.
Claire lowered her voice.
“You think I don’t replay June?”
I looked away.
“She was six hours away,” Claire continued.
“I was forty minutes away.”
“Stop.”
“I stood in that house.”
“Stop.”
“I talked to Marlene.”
“Claire.”
“I left you there.”
“Stop.”
She did.
Her face crumpled.
I hated that I had made her cry.
I hated more that part of me wanted her to feel guilty.
That was the ugliest truth in the room.
I had suffered alone.
Some furious corner of me wanted witnesses to pay for not seeing it.
Ortiz came back before either of us spoke.
She looked different.
Tighter.
“What happened?” I asked.
“They’ve reviewed additional files from Daniel’s laptop.”
I braced myself.
“One folder isn’t named after a woman.”
Claire sat.
“What is it named?”
Ortiz looked directly at me.
“Requests.”
My stomach turned.
May you like
“What’s in it?”
“Screenshots, payment records, and message threads.”
