Chương 3
Emily noticed that.
The process should have made her feel safer.
Instead it showed her how many things she had assumed were safe without checking.
Two security officers entered. Neither came near the bed until Emily nodded. One was a broad man with gray in his beard. The other was a woman with a radio clipped to her shoulder.
The female officer looked at the paper in Emily’s hand.
“Can I see that?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
The officer did not argue.
Emily appreciated her for it.
Rachel asked, “Where is Margaret?”
“In an interview room near the nurses’ station.”
“She can’t be on this unit.”
“She won’t be.”
“What about the man?”
“We’re reviewing cameras.”
“Did you get his face?”
The female officer shook her head.
“Hat. Head down. Used the stairs.”
Margaret had not mentioned a hat.
Emily remembered only the dark suit.
“Did he come with her?” Emily asked.
“We don’t know yet.”
“I know.”
Everyone turned toward her.
Emily looked at the door.
“She was scared when she saw him.”
The security officer with the gray beard frowned.
“You know the woman?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I have never seen her in my life.”
“Name Margaret Hale mean anything?”
“No.”
The baby stirred again.
Emily’s arms tightened.
The female officer noticed.
“Ms. Carter, would you like us to get someone from administration?”
“No.”
“Patient advocate?”
“No.”
“Police?”
Emily hesitated.
That hesitation embarrassed her.
A stranger had just tried to force his way toward her newborn, and she was hesitating about police because part of her still wanted someone to tell her there had been a clerical mistake.
If she called police, it became real.
Rachel said nothing.
Emily hated her a little for making the choice hers.
“Yes,” Emily said. “Call them.”
The officer nodded.
Emily pointed at the paper.
“And nobody takes this.”
“We can photograph it with your permission.”
“Not yet.”
“Okay.”
The officer stepped back.
Emily looked down at the strange signature again.
It was not legible enough to be a name. A hard diagonal stroke. Two looping marks. A line beneath them.
The signature had been added beside a printed time.
3:17 a.m.
Five minutes after the chart change Margaret had mentioned.
Emily’s mouth went dry.
“Rachel.”
“Yes?”
“What time was he born?”
Rachel knew without checking.
“2:41.”
Thirty-one minutes.
Her son had existed outside her body for thirty-one minutes before someone changed his record.
Emily touched the edge of his cap.
For most of those thirty-one minutes, he had been on her chest.
Rachel had been in the room.
A resident had repaired Emily’s tear.
A respiratory therapist had come and gone.
A tech had weighed the baby.
Someone had taken cord blood.
Someone had scanned wristbands.
Someone had printed labels.
Someone had entered information.
The idea of an intruder was suddenly less frightening than the ordinary movement of hospital workers she had never considered.
Emily looked at Rachel.
“Who had access to his chart?”
“A lot of people potentially.”
“How many?”
“I can’t give you a number.”
“Twenty?”
“Maybe.”
“Fifty?”
“Across registration, nursing, medical staff, lab, patient access—maybe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only accurate one I have.”
Emily laughed once, harshly.
The baby startled.
She immediately lowered her voice.
“Sorry.”
Rachel looked at her.
Emily realized she had apologized to the baby, not the nurse.
A police officer arrived twenty minutes later.
By then Emily had refused pain medication because she wanted her head clear, then changed her mind when her hands began shaking from the pain. Rachel brought one tablet instead of two and watched her swallow it. The security officer remained inside the room. The baby fed for nine minutes, fell asleep, woke when Emily tried to move him, and finally settled with his cheek against her chest.
The normality of it felt obscene.
A woman had tried to take him.
Somebody had altered his medical record.
And he still needed to eat every two hours.
The police officer introduced herself as Officer Lena Ortiz. She was not much older than Emily and did not use the falsely soothing voice people had used with Emily since Aaron’s death.
She asked simple questions.
Had Emily received threats during pregnancy?
No.
Custody dispute?
No.
Former partner?
No.
Family conflict?
Not that kind.
Money dispute?
No.
Adoption plan?
Emily said no quickly enough that Ortiz looked up.
“No,” Emily repeated. “There was never an adoption plan.”
“Okay.”
“My husband died four months ago.”
Ortiz paused.
“I’m sorry.”
Emily nodded because that was what people expected.
“Anyone from his family making claims about the baby?”
“His parents live in Oregon. They’re supposed to fly in tomorrow. They’re terrified of holding him. They’re not trying to steal him.”
Ortiz’s expression softened for half a second.
“Any fertility treatment?”
Emily looked up.
The question seemed unrelated until it did not.
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“IVF.”
Rachel stopped writing something on the whiteboard.
Emily saw it.
“So?”
Ortiz said, “I ask because disputes involving stored embryos or donor arrangements sometimes create people with perceived claims. I’m not saying that’s what this is.”
Emily stared at Rachel.
The nurse looked back.
“What?” Emily asked.
Rachel shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“Stop saying nothing.”
Ortiz glanced between them.
Rachel lowered the marker.
“Emily, was your IVF done locally?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“North Lake Reproductive Medicine.”
Rachel’s eyes changed.
It was not recognition exactly.
More like a piece had landed somewhere uncomfortable.
“You know it?” Emily asked.
“I know the name.”
“That is not what your face just said.”
Rachel put the cap on the marker.
“My sister went there.”
Emily waited.
Rachel added, “Years ago.”
“And?”
“And nothing. I’m not saying there’s a connection.”
Officer Ortiz raised a hand slightly.
“One thing at a time.”
Emily almost snapped at her.
Instead she looked at the baby.
His nose was flattened against her skin.
Aaron had joked at the twenty-week ultrasound that the baby had his nose.
May you like
Emily had believed him.
The technician had said it was impossible to tell from that angle.
