Chapter 3: The Woman Who Signed My Name
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Claire Bennett.
My best friend.
The woman who'd stood beside me when I married Damon. The woman who'd promised to protect my daughter before either of us had even seen her face.
Her name sat beneath a forged signature, granting her access to my medical records.
Dr. Miller closed the document.
“Emily, I want you to take a breath.””
I tried.
The air caught halfway down my throat.
“Why would she have access to my records?””
“I can't answer that yet. I need to investigate how this authorization entered the system.””
“Can you remove it?””
“Yes. Immediately.””
She clicked through several screens, then printed a copy of the form.
“I'm revoking this authorization while we review it. I'll also document that you dispute the signature.””
I took the papers with trembling hands.
“Could someone have changed my appointment without telling me?””
“Someone contacted the office and requested a change. Our staff followed the instructions attached to the account. I can't tell you more until I review the call record.””
“Was it Damon?””
“I don't know who made the call.””
“But he knew about the appointment.””
Dr. Miller studied my face.
“Emily, is there something you haven't told me?””
I thought about the closet.
The sapphire ring.
The notebook.
The words Tell her the test results are normal.
I wanted to tell her everything, but I was afraid that if I spoke the words aloud, the whole fragile structure of my life would collapse.
“My husband has been acting strangely,” I said.
“He's been telling me my anxiety is affecting the baby. He's also been giving me vitamins.””
“Do you have the bottle?””
“Not with me.””
“Bring it in if you can. Don't take any more until we identify exactly what it contains.””
She printed another sheet and handed it to me.
“This is the number for our patient advocate. If you believe someone is interfering with your care, please contact us directly. And if you ever feel unsafe at home, tell someone you trust or seek emergency assistance.””
I folded the papers into my purse.
Before I left, Dr. Miller stopped me at the door.
“One more thing. The ultrasound image you brought in doesn't establish that your baby is in danger. But I don't want you relying on a picture whose origin we can't verify. Let's arrange a proper scan here as soon as possible.””
I nodded.
For the first time since entering the clinic, I felt a small measure of relief.
My daughter deserved better than a mother who accepted whatever scraps of truth her husband handed her.
I was going to find out what was happening.
Even if the truth destroyed everything.
Outside, rain hammered the parking lot. I sat in my car and called the only person I could think of who might help me without immediately running to Damon.
My older sister, Natalie.
She answered on the third ring.
“Em? What's wrong?””
I nearly broke at the sound of her voice.
“Can you come over?””
“Of course. Are you at home?””
“No. I'm at the clinic.””
“Is the baby okay?””
“I think so.””
“What does that mean?””
I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel.
“Nat, I need you to promise me something.””
“Anything.””
“Don't call Damon. Don't call Claire. Don't tell anyone what I'm about to say until I ask you to.””
Her voice hardened.
“Emily, what happened?””
“My husband is lying to me.””
Silence.
Then Natalie said, “I'm on my way.””
She arrived at my house forty minutes later, carrying a paper bag of groceries and wearing the expression she used whenever she was preparing to fight someone.
I let her in and locked the door behind us.
She noticed immediately.
“Where's Damon?””
“At work.””
“Good.””
She put the groceries on the counter.
“Now tell me everything.””
So I did.
I told her about the bedroom, the camisole, the hand in the closet, the notebook, and the appointment.
I showed her the photographs and the copy of the authorization form.
Natalie read the document twice.
Then she placed it on the table.
“Claire signed this?””
“Her name is there.””
“That doesn't necessarily prove she forged your signature.””
“I know.””
“Someone could have used her name.””
“I know, Nat.””
She looked at the photograph of the camisole.
Then she looked at me.
“I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm saying we need proof that won't disappear the second Damon realizes you're looking for it.””
I stared at her.
It was the first sensible thing anyone had said to me all day.
“What do we do?””
“First, make copies of everything. Second, find out what those vitamins actually are. Third, don't confront either of them until we know what they're hiding.””
I nodded.
Natalie took out her phone and photographed the authorization form.
“Do you have the notebook page?””
I showed her the picture I'd taken.
She enlarged the text.
“'If she knows, move the date.'' What date?””
“I don't know.””
“Maybe a medical procedure. Maybe something else.””
Her eyes moved to the handwritten notation.
“Dr. H. Nine-thirty.””
“That's my appointment time.””
Natalie looked up sharply.
“Did you actually have an appointment yesterday?””
“Yes.””
“But Dr. Miller says it was postponed.””
“I had an ultrasound somewhere else. At least, I thought I did.””
Natalie sat back.
“Emily, where did you go?””
I told her the name of the imaging center printed on the envelope.
She immediately searched it on her phone.
After a few minutes, she turned the screen toward me.
“It's a real place. But it's an independent imaging center, not your obstetric clinic.””
“So Damon could have booked it.””
“Possibly. But that doesn't mean anything illegal happened. We need the actual records.””
She wrote down the number and called the center.
When a receptionist answered, Natalie explained that I was the patient and wanted to obtain my records.
The receptionist asked for my date of birth and appointment details.
I provided them.
There was a pause as she typed.
“I'm sorry,” the receptionist said.
“I can't locate an appointment under that information.””
My stomach tightened.
“Could you check again?””
“Of course.””
More typing.
Then the receptionist returned.
“I'm afraid we don't have a record of your visit.””
I stared at Natalie.
“But I was there.””
“Ma'am, I can only tell you what's in our system.””
I thanked her and ended the call.
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
Then Natalie reached for the ultrasound envelope.
“Emily, where did you get this?””
I told her Damon had left it on the kitchen counter the previous evening.
She turned it over and examined the label.
“There's no patient number.””
I looked closer.
She was right.
No clinic address. No accession number. No date of birth.
Just my name, printed neatly above a date.
I felt suddenly sick.
The image might have been real. It might even have been a picture of my daughter.
But I had no proof that it was.
Natalie squeezed my hand.
“We'll get you a proper scan. Today, if possible.””
I nodded.
Then her phone buzzed.
A message from Claire.
*Is Emily with you? Damon says she's been acting strange. I'm worried about her.*
Natalie read it aloud.
I stared at the screen.
“She knows we're together.””
“Maybe Damon told her.””
“Why would he?””
Natalie typed a response.
*She's fine. Why are you asking?*
Claire answered almost immediately.
*Because she called me this morning and asked about something that doesn't make sense. I think she's having another episode. Please don't upset her. The baby needs her calm.*
Another episode.
The words hit me harder than the discovery of the forged signature.
Claire had spent years watching me grow into someone who trusted herself. Now she was helping Damon turn every question I asked into evidence that I couldn't be trusted.
Natalie put her phone down.
“Don't respond.””
“I want to ask her why she did it.””
“And she'll lie.””
“Maybe she'll confess.””
“Or she'll warn Damon that you know about the form.””
I hated that Natalie was right.
My phone rang.
Damon.
I watched his name flash across the screen.
Natalie shook her head.
“Don't answer if you don't want to.””
But I needed to hear him.
I needed to know how easily he could still pretend.
I accepted the call.
“Hey,” I said.
“Emily.”” His voice was warm and measured.
“How did the appointment go?””
I looked at Natalie.
“Fine.””
“Did Dr. Miller say everything was okay?””
“She had some questions.””
A pause.
“What kind of questions?””
“Medical questions.””
“About what?””
“Why don't you tell me?””
The silence lasted just long enough.
Then Damon laughed softly.
“Sweetheart, you're doing that thing again.””
“What thing?””
“Looking for problems when there aren't any.””
I closed my eyes.
“Did you call my doctor's office?””
“No.””
“Did you authorize Claire to access my medical records?””
“What? Of course not.””
“Did you book an ultrasound at an imaging center yesterday?””
“I thought you went to your regular appointment.””
I gripped the phone.
“You thought?””
“You told me you had an appointment.””
“You knew I was going.””
“Emily, I'm at work. I can't do this right now.””
“Then answer one question.””
“What?””
“Why did you write my name in your notebook?””
Silence.
Not a breath.
Not a rustle of paper.
Nothing.
Then Damon's voice returned, lower than before.
“Where did you get that notebook?””
I smiled bitterly.
“You already asked me that.””
“Emily, listen to me carefully. I need you to stop talking to Natalie about this.””
My sister's head snapped up.
“Why?”” I asked.
“Because she's always hated me. She'll use anything to turn you against your husband.””
“She didn't sign my name.””
“You don't know that Claire did.””
“You're right. I don't.””
I waited.
“Damon, do you know who did?””
He hung up.
I lowered the phone.
Natalie stood and began pacing the kitchen.
“That's it. You're staying with me tonight.””
“I can't just leave.””
“Why not?””
“Because he'll know I'm suspicious.””
“He already knows.””
She had a point.
But leaving without understanding what was happening felt like walking away from a fire while my daughter was still inside the house.
I needed one more thing.
Proof of what was in that black notebook.
That evening, Natalie drove me to her apartment. We ate toast because neither of us could stomach a proper meal, and she made up the guest bed with fresh sheets.
At 10:17 p.m., my phone lit up.
A message from Damon.
*I'm sorry about earlier. I love you. Come home tomorrow and we'll talk calmly.*
A second message followed.
*I bought something for the nursery. You'll love it.*
Then a photograph appeared.
A small white crib stood in the center of our nursery, surrounded by pale pink blankets and stuffed animals.
I stared at the image.
He'd taken it that afternoon.
He'd been in the nursery, arranging gifts for the daughter whose medical records he'd apparently helped manipulate.
Beneath the photograph, he'd written:
*Our little girl deserves a happy home. Let's not let other people ruin that.*
Natalie read the message over my shoulder.
“That's not an apology,” she said.
“That's a warning.””
I saved the messages.
Then I zoomed in on the photograph of the nursery.
Something lay on the floor beside the crib.
A small white bottle.
The same bottle Damon had left beside my water glass the previous Sunday.
I enlarged the image until the label came into focus.
Most of the print was blurry, but one line was clear.
It wasn't a vitamin supplement.
It was a prescription medication.
And the name printed beneath the dosage wasn't mine.
It was Claire's.
I sat frozen on the bed.
Natalie took the phone from me, her face growing pale.
“Emily,” she whispered, “why would your best friend's prescription be in your baby's nursery?””
Before I could answer, another message arrived.
This time, it wasn't from Damon.
It was from an unknown number.
*Stop asking about the notebook. You don't know what happened to the last woman who tried to expose us.*
May you like
A second message appeared before I could move.
*Ask your husband what happened to his first wife.*
