Chương 2
Pale sunlight touched the edge of the blinds.
My stomach was flat beneath the blankets.
Panic struck so violently that I tore at the sheet.
A nurse hurried toward me.
“My baby.”
“He’s alive.”
I stopped breathing.
“He’s alive?”
“He’s in the neonatal intensive care unit.”
“Why isn’t he here?”
“He needs respiratory support, and the pediatric team is monitoring him closely.”
“Is he okay?”
The nurse hesitated.
That hesitation told me more than reassurance would have.
“He’s alive,” she repeated softly.
I closed my eyes.
For that moment, alive was enough.
His name was Noah.
Michael and I had chosen it together, which suddenly made me hate the name.
Then I hated myself for hating my own son’s name.
“Noah,” I whispered.
The nurse adjusted my IV.
“That’s his name?”
“Yes.”
“Good name.”
“My husband picked it.”
She paused.
“Then you can still decide whether it belongs to your son.”
I looked at her.
Her badge said EMILY.
She seemed embarrassed by what she had said and began straightening tubing that did not need straightening.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
My throat tightened.
“Thank you.”
A sheriff’s investigator came to see me that afternoon.
Detective Lena Brooks was short, gray-haired, and carried a paper cup that smelled like terrible coffee.
She did not ask me to tell the entire story immediately.
Instead, she pulled a chair beside the bed and asked whether I knew what day it was.
“Friday.”
“Saturday.”
I stared at the window.
“Okay.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital.”
“That’s good enough.”
She took a sip of coffee and grimaced.
“Apparently I keep buying this even though I hate it.”
I almost smiled.
Then she said Michael’s name.
My body tightened before my mind caught up.
“He reported you missing at 6:41 yesterday evening.”
“Missing?”
“He told park authorities you wandered away after an argument.”
I looked at her.
“He pushed me off a cliff.”
“I’m listening.”
“He knew exactly where I was.”
Brooks set down her coffee.
“Tell me what happened in whatever order you can.”
So I did.
I told her about the argument.
I told her how Michael kept guiding me toward the overlook despite my asking to return to the car.
I told her about his hands hitting my shoulders.
I told her about Ashley’s voice above the ledge.
I repeated the sentence about fifty million dollars.
Brooks wrote almost nothing while I spoke.
That frightened me.
“Do you believe me?”
“My job right now isn’t to make you feel believed or disbelieved.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“It probably does.”
She leaned back.
“Your husband says you were emotionally unstable, that pregnancy had made you unpredictable, and that you walked away from him.”
My hands curled beneath the blanket.
“He’s building a story.”
“Maybe.”
“There is no maybe.”
“For you, there isn’t.”
Her calmness made me furious.
“My son almost died.”
“I know.”
“No, you read it in a report.”
Brooks absorbed that without defending herself.
After a moment, she nodded.
“That’s fair.”
I looked away.
Cars moved along a road beyond the hospital windows, tiny and ordinary.
Someone down there was probably late for work.
Someone was deciding what to order for lunch.
The normal world felt obscene.
Brooks opened a thin folder.
“There’s something else you need to know.”
I turned back.
“Michael was informed early this morning that search crews had recovered what they initially believed were remains associated with the incident.”
My mouth went dry.
“What remains?”
“Another victim was found lower on the mountain.”
“Who?”
“We don’t have an identification I can share yet.”
“Then why would Michael think it was me?”
“Conditions were poor, the preliminary information was confused, and your vehicle and personal effects were connected to the search.”
I watched her carefully.
“What did he do?”
Brooks did not answer immediately.
That was becoming a habit I disliked.
“He began notifying family.”
I felt cold again.
“He thinks I’m dead.”
“As far as we know, yes.”
“Keep it that way.”
Brooks’s eyebrows lifted.
“Claire.”
“Don’t tell him.”
“We cannot fake your death.”
“I’m not asking you to fake anything.”
I pushed myself higher despite the pain.
“I’m asking you not to rush to correct the mistake.”
“That decision isn’t entirely mine.”
“He tried to murder me for an insurance policy.”
“We still need evidence beyond your statement.”
“Ashley heard him.”
“And if she’s involved, she may deny it.”
The truth of that landed hard.
Brooks continued quietly.
“If Carter believes you survived, he gets time to destroy records, coordinate stories, move money, or leave.”
I studied her face.
“You already thought of that.”
“I think of unpleasant things for a living.”
“So let him believe I’m dead.”
Brooks picked up her coffee but did not drink.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
A knock came at the door.
Emily entered, her expression brighter than before.
“Claire, NICU says you can see your son.”
Everything else disappeared.
Brooks stood.
“We’ll talk later.”
I barely heard her.
Emily helped me into a wheelchair because my legs shook when I tried to stand.
Every movement hurt.
The hallway seemed impossibly long.
Then we reached a room filled with soft alarms and transparent incubators.
Noah was smaller than he had ever been inside my imagination.
A breathing tube covered part of his face.
Wires crossed his tiny chest.
His fingers were curled beside his head.
I stopped at the incubator and could not move closer.
“That’s my baby?”
Emily rested a hand on the wheelchair.
“That’s Noah.”
I slipped my hand through the opening in the incubator.
My finger touched his palm.
His hand closed around it.
I bent forward and cried without making a sound.
Michael had tried to erase both of us.
He had stood above that cliff and waited for the mountain to finish what he started.
But Noah’s fingers were wrapped around mine.
Mine.
Not Michael’s.
Not Ashley’s.
Not the insurance company’s.
Not the investigators’.
May you like
Mine.
I looked through the glass at my son and felt something harder than rage settle into place.
