Chapter 7 - The Wife Who Never Existed
"Richard was married before me?"
I stared at Charlotte.
She looked just as shocked.
Samuel Reed answered quietly.
"For eleven months. The marriage was dissolved before he moved to New York."
"Richard told me he'd never been married."
"He lied."
I almost laughed.
Another lie.
Another piece of my life rewritten by a man who had convinced me I couldn't remember my own history.
"What was her name?"
"Margaret Vale."
My stomach dropped.
Vale.
Ethan Vale.
"Is she the person who took Benjamin?"
"We have reason to believe she signed the guardianship papers."
"Where is she now?"
"That's uncertain. Her last known address is tied to a property near Litchfield, Connecticut."
"Send it to Charlotte."
"I will."
Then Samuel said, "Mrs. Whitmore, be careful. Clara believed Margaret was afraid of Richard, too."
The call ended.
I looked at the photograph again.
The newborn in the blue blanket.
My baby.
Benjamin.
There were details I had forgotten.
The way he'd moved beneath my ribs whenever I played music.
The tiny socks I'd bought before the accident.
The wooden crib my father had ordered from a craftsman in Vermont.
I'd never been allowed to enter the nursery after coming home from the hospital.
Richard said the room was too painful.
Later, Vanessa converted it into a guest bedroom.
I had watched strangers sleep where my child should have slept.
And I'd thanked her for helping me move on.
At two in the morning, the emergency physician returned.
She explained that my immediate test results did not establish everything that had happened over seven years, but the medications listed in my household records included substances that warranted urgent specialist review.
A hospital neurologist would evaluate my condition.
A pharmacist would reconcile every medication.
And further imaging would help determine how much of my weakness was related to the original injury and how much might have other causes.
I asked the question that had been living inside me for years.
"Could I ever walk again?"
The physician pulled up a chair.
"I can't promise that."
"I understand."
"But I also wouldn't accept an old prognosis without reviewing your current condition and imaging."
I began crying.
Not because she'd promised me something wonderful.
Because she hadn't.
She'd given me something Richard never had.
The truth as she knew it.
After the physician left, Charlotte sat beside my bed.
"We need to get you legal protection."
"From my own husband."
"Yes."
I looked at her.
"Why didn't you come for me?"
The question escaped before I could stop it.
Charlotte's face changed.
"Eleanor."
"You were my best friend."
"I know."
"Richard told me you stopped calling."
She looked away.
"I called every week for almost a year."
My chest tightened.
"He said you didn't."
"I wrote letters. I sent flowers. I showed up at the house twice."
"What happened?"
"The staff told me you couldn't receive visitors. Then I received a letter from a lawyer demanding that I stop contacting you."
I stared at her.
"Whose lawyer?"
"Richard's."
"Why didn't you fight him?"
Charlotte wiped her eyes.
"I should have. I thought you wanted space after everything you'd suffered. And I was afraid pushing harder would make things worse."
I looked down at my hands.
Seven years had disappeared.
Not only because Richard locked doors.
But because he made the people on either side believe the other person had closed them.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
Charlotte shook her head.
"No. I'm sorry."
We sat together in silence.
Then she opened her laptop.
"I've already contacted an independent attorney who handles contested guardianship and financial abuse cases. We can challenge whatever documents Richard has been using."
"Will he try to stop us?"
"Almost certainly."
"Can he?"
"Not automatically."
I studied her.
She leaned closer.
"You're allowed to have a lawyer, Eleanor. You're allowed to ask questions. You're allowed to refuse your husband's decisions."
I looked toward the window.
For years, Richard had told me what I was allowed to do.
Now Charlotte was reminding me that I had rights he couldn't simply erase.
My phone buzzed.
It was a message from Vanessa.
PLEASE CALL ME. RICHARD KNOWS YOU LEFT WITH CHARLOTTE.
A second message appeared.
DO NOT GO TO CONNECTICUT.
Then a third.
IF YOU FIND MARGARET, DON'T TELL HER WHO YOU ARE.
I showed Charlotte.
She frowned.
"How does Vanessa know we're looking for Margaret?"
I hadn't told her.
Neither had Charlotte.
Samuel had spoken to us only minutes earlier.
My skin prickled.
Then a fourth message arrived.
This one contained a photograph.
A small boy stood in the snow outside a white farmhouse.
He wore a red scarf and held a wooden toy airplane.
His dark hair fell across his forehead.
His eyes were unmistakable.
I'd seen those eyes every morning of my life.
In the mirror.
Beneath the photograph, Vanessa had written:
HIS NAME IS ETHAN.
May you like
A moment later, another message appeared.
AND RICHARD ISN'T HIS ONLY FATHER ON PAPER.
