Chapter 4: The Woman Who Knew My Daughter
“Ask Vanessa why she was at Lily's hospital before you even left for Savannah.””
I read the message three times.
Then I looked through the window again.
Vanessa was still sitting in her car, her phone pressed against her ear. Her mouth moved, but I couldn't hear what she was saying. When she noticed me watching, she lowered the phone and stared straight ahead.
Officer Brooks held out her hand.
“Mr. Reed, may I see that?””
I gave her my phone.
She read the message, then examined the photograph of Lily in the hospital bed.
“Do you recognize the woman standing beside your daughter?””
“No.””
“Has Vanessa ever mentioned visiting the hospital?””
“No.””
My answer came too quickly.
Because suddenly, I remembered something.
Two weeks before our trip, Vanessa had asked me whether Lily was still seeing the same pediatric specialist.
I had been reviewing a presentation at the time, irritated by the interruption.
“Why are you asking about my daughter's doctor?”” I'd said.
Vanessa had smiled.
“I'm just making conversation, Marcus. You talk about her all the time.””
I had accepted that explanation because accepting it had been easier than examining why another woman was so interested in my child.
Officer Brooks returned my phone.
“I'm going to ask Ms. Carter to remain outside while we arrange to speak with her formally. Please don't contact her or delete anything from your devices.””
I nodded.
She stepped onto the porch and approached Vanessa's car.
Vanessa opened the window.
“Is there a problem, Officer?””
“I need you to step out of the vehicle, Ms. Carter.””
“Why?””
“We have some questions regarding a photograph and a company connected to a medical-services investigation.””
Vanessa's expression changed.
It was slight, almost invisible.
But I saw it.
Her hand tightened around the steering wheel.
“What company?””
“Meridian Family Services.””
For one second, Vanessa forgot to pretend she was confused.
Then she recovered.
“I don't know anything about that.””
Officer Brooks remained beside the car.
“Then answering a few questions shouldn't be difficult.””
Vanessa glanced toward the house.
Her eyes found mine through the window.
There was no tenderness in them now.
Only warning.
She stepped out of the car.
Inside, Danielle sat at the dining table, staring at Lily's drawing.
I approached her slowly.
“Did Vanessa ever contact you?””
Danielle didn't look up.
“No.””
“Did you ever meet her?””
“Once. At a company picnic, two years ago. She said hello to Lily.””
My stomach tightened.
“What did Lily say about her afterward?””
Danielle lifted her eyes.
“She asked why Daddy's friend kept touching his arm.””
I remembered that picnic.
Vanessa had been laughing at one of my jokes, her hand resting on my forearm. Lily had stood nearby holding a paper plate with a hot dog she had barely touched.
I'd told her not to be rude.
Now that memory sat between us like another accusation.
Danielle folded the drawing.
“Marcus, what was she doing at the hospital?””
“I don't know.””
“Then find out.””
Her voice was so tired that I almost wished she would scream.
At least anger would have meant she still expected something from me.
Outside, Officer Brooks spoke to Vanessa for several minutes. Vanessa kept shaking her head, gesturing toward the street, then pointing at the house.
Finally, she asked to make a phone call.
Officer Brooks allowed her to contact an attorney before arranging a formal interview.
Vanessa glanced at me once more before getting into a second police vehicle to accompany the officers to the station.
She didn't say goodbye.
She didn't ask whether I was all right.
She didn't even mention Lily.
The front door closed behind Officer Brooks when she returned.
“Ms. Carter denies visiting the hospital,” she told us.
“She says she has no connection to Meridian Family Services.””
“She's lying,” I said.
“Possibly. But we need evidence, not assumptions.””
She placed a card on the table.
“An investigator will contact you both. In the meantime, preserve every message and call record. Don't confront anyone who might be involved.””
I nodded.
After she left, the house became unbearably quiet.
I went upstairs.
Lily's bedroom door was half open.
A pink night-light glowed beside her bed, though it was still afternoon. Her stuffed rabbit sat against the pillow, one ear bent forward. On the desk, a jar of colored pencils stood beside a stack of drawings.
I sat on the edge of her bed.
The mattress dipped beneath my weight.
“I'm here, sweetheart,” I whispered.
The words sounded pathetic.
I picked up the rabbit and pressed its soft fabric against my face.
It smelled faintly of lavender detergent.
Then I noticed a small envelope tucked beneath the corner of her pillow.
My name was written across the front in purple crayon.
*FOR DADDY. OPEN WHEN YOU COME HOME.*
My fingers trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a folded sheet of paper.
Dear Daddy,
I know you're busy. Mommy says grown-ups have important things to do.
But I have something important too.
I wanted to tell you that sometimes I hear Mommy crying in the kitchen when she thinks I'm asleep. I think she's worried about money, because she keeps looking at papers.
I heard her tell someone that she didn't want to lose me.
Daddy, am I going somewhere?
Please tell me before I have to go.
Love, Lily.
I stopped reading.
The paper slipped from my fingers.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Then I bent forward, pressing my palms against my eyes, and cried into the empty room.
I had spent months convincing myself that I was merely a distracted father.
A busy man.
A husband whose marriage had become complicated.
But my daughter had been frightened enough to write me a letter asking whether someone was going to take her away.
And I hadn't even been there to read it.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Danielle stood in the hallway.
She saw the letter in my hand.
“Where did you find that?””
“Under her pillow.””
Danielle covered her mouth.
“I thought she'd thrown it away.””
“You knew about this?””
“I knew she was frightened. I didn't know she'd written that.””
I stood.
“What papers was she talking about?””
Danielle looked toward Lily's desk.
Then she walked to a small wooden cabinet beside the window and pulled open the bottom drawer.
Inside was a thick folder containing medical bills, insurance correspondence, and documents from the foundation.
She placed it on the desk.
“I haven't looked at everything since she died,” she said.
“I couldn't.””
I opened the folder.
Near the bottom lay a document bearing the silver-circle logo of Meridian Family Services.
The heading read:
*EMERGENCY PEDIATRIC CARE COORDINATION AGREEMENT.*
Below it was Danielle's signature.
But there was another signature, too.
One I recognized immediately.
It belonged to Vanessa Carter.
My mouth went dry.
“Danielle,” I whispered, “why is Vanessa's name on this?””
Danielle leaned over my shoulder.
When she saw the signature, she stumbled backward.
“No.””
I turned the page.
The document listed Vanessa as an authorized family liaison, with permission to communicate with the foundation and coordinate certain administrative matters.
The signature was dated Thursday.
The day before I left for Savannah.
I stared at the page until the letters blurred.
My wife had signed an agreement with a company connected to my mistress.
My mistress had been at my daughter's hospital.
And somehow, I had known nothing about it.
Then I noticed the handwritten note at the bottom of the final page.
Primary family contact unavailable. Proceed under emergency authorization.
Beneath it was a telephone number.
I recognized the last four digits.
They belonged to my office.
I pulled out my phone and searched my recent calls.
At 2:17 p.m. Friday, I had received a call from the company's main number.
I hadn't answered.
But according to the hospital record, someone had called back nine minutes later and pretended to be me.
I looked at Danielle.
“Who did you give permission to speak on my behalf?””
She shook her head frantically.
“I didn't authorize anyone to impersonate you.””
Before I could respond, my phone rang.
An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.
I answered.
A man's voice came through, low and urgent.
“Mr. Reed, my name is Daniel Price. I work in the records department at Meridian Family Services.””
I gripped the phone.
“What did your company do to my daughter?””
He took a shaky breath.
“I can't explain everything over the phone. But I need you to understand one thing.””
“What?””
“Your daughter's case was never supposed to be approved.””
My blood ran cold.
“Then why was it?””
There was a pause.
Then he whispered six words that changed everything.
May you like
“Because someone used your identity, sir.””
And before I could ask who, the line went dead.
