Chapter 4 - KEEP SMILING
“What are you doing?”
His tone sounded casual.
His eyes didn’t.
I closed the laptop completely.
“Looking at baby monitors.”
“On my computer?”
“It’s our laptop.”
He stood in the doorway.
“I thought you were going to bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then he smiled.
“Okay.”
He came over and kissed the top of my head.
I nearly flinched.
Nearly.
Instead, I leaned into him.
That might have been the hardest thing I had ever done.
Pretending the man touching me wasn’t planning to take my child.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Just tired.”
He studied me again.
Then went to shower.
The second the bathroom door closed, I sent every file I could to a new email account.
Then I deleted the browser history.
I didn’t sleep.
At 7:30 the next morning, Mark said, “I have that thing with Mom today.”
I buttered toast.
“What thing?”
He paused.
“The family business thing.”
“Oh.”
I forced myself to yawn.
“Have fun.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You’re not going to ask?”
“About what?”
He looked almost disappointed.
“Nothing.”
When he left, I called Melissa.
“I found the plan.”
She was silent while I explained.
Then she said, “Send me everything.”
“I already did.”
“Good.”
“Is it legal?”
“The custody plan? They can talk to an attorney.”
“The altered medical release.”
“That could be very serious.”
“Can they really take her from the hospital?”
Melissa took a breath.
“They can ask a court for emergency relief. Asking and getting are different things.”
“But if Mark lies?”
“That’s why documentation matters.”
I sat down.
“What do I do now?”
“We prepare before they know you know.”
I spent the next two days building my own file.
Prenatal records showing consistent care.
Therapy discharge notes showing I had completed grief counseling successfully.
Texts where Mark told me I would be a great mother.
Messages where Diane insulted me.
A voicemail she had forgotten she left six months earlier.
“You married into this family,” she had snapped. “You don’t get to decide how this baby is raised.”
I saved everything.
But the most important evidence came from a place I never expected.
Susan Bell.
Diane’s neighbor.
She called me Wednesday afternoon.
“Lena, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Are you planning to hurt the baby?”
I almost dropped my phone.
“What?”
Susan sounded uncomfortable.
“Diane told me you’ve made comments.”
“What comments?”
“She said you told Mark sometimes you wish you weren’t pregnant.”
I closed my eyes.
Once.
I had said it once.
At twelve weeks.
While vomiting into a trash can.
I had laughed afterward and said, “I wish somebody else could be pregnant for me today.”
“That’s not what happened.”
Susan lowered her voice.
“I didn’t think so.”
“Why are you asking?”
“Because Diane asked me to write a statement.”
My blood turned cold.
“What kind of statement?”
“That I’ve observed you behaving erratically.”
“Have you?”
“No.”
“Then why would she ask you?”
Susan was quiet.
Finally she said, “I think she assumed I would do it.”
“Will you?”
“No.”
My knees weakened with relief.
Then she added, “There’s something else.”
“What?”
“She’s been setting up a nursery.”
I frowned.
“At her house?”
“Yes.”
“She already had a guest room.”
“No, Lena.”
Susan’s voice became very soft.
“I mean a full nursery.”
“Crib?”
“Crib. Changing table. Formula. Bottles. Newborn clothes.”
My skin prickled.
“She told me the baby would be staying with her after the hospital.”
I pressed my palm against the kitchen counter.
“What exactly did she say?”
“She said, ‘Lena won’t be in any condition to raise a child once we’re finished.’”
My vision blurred.
“Would you tell my attorney that?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
That night, Mark came home unusually cheerful.
“Mom wants us over for dinner tomorrow.”
“I thought she hated me.”
He laughed.
“She doesn’t hate you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“She wants a fresh start.”
I looked at him.
Thursday.
Their attorney meeting had been that morning.
Now Diane wanted dinner.
I smiled.
“Sure.”
At Diane’s house the next evening, I understood why.
Halfway through dessert, Diane put her phone on the table, screen down.
Then she looked at me.
“So, Lena. Have you ever thought you might hurt yourself after the baby comes?”
I stared at her.
May you like
Mark stopped chewing.
And under the table, my phone was recording everything.
