Chapter 5 - SAY IT AGAIN
I let silence fill the room.
Diane tilted her head.
“Well?”
“Why would you ask me that?”
“I’m concerned.”
“About what?”
“Your moods.”
“My moods.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Mark.
He stared at his plate.
I turned back to Diane.
“Have I ever told you I wanted to hurt myself?”
“No.”
“Have I ever told you I wanted to hurt the baby?”
“No.”
“Have you ever seen me harm anyone?”
Diane’s jaw tightened.
“This isn’t a courtroom.”
Not yet, I thought.
I smiled.
“I’m just trying to understand your concern.”
She leaned back.
“You’re very defensive.”
“You asked whether I might hurt myself.”
“Because postpartum depression is real.”
“It is.”
“You have a history of mental illness.”
I felt anger rise.
But Melissa’s warning echoed in my head.
Be careful what you say around people who may be recording you.
Maybe Diane was recording too.
So I kept my voice steady.
“I went to grief counseling after my mother died.”
“You took medication.”
“For three months.”
“That proves my point.”
“No. It proves I got help when I needed it.”
Mark shifted in his seat.
“Can we drop this?”
Diane ignored him.
“What if you become depressed after delivery?”
“Then I’ll call my doctor.”
“What if you don’t realize you’re sick?”
“My husband can support me.”
That made Mark look up.
I held his eyes.
“Right, Mark?”
His face changed.
Tiny movement.
Tiny panic.
“Of course.”
Diane laughed softly.
“I wouldn’t rely on that.”
“Mom.”
“What? I’m saying a new father has limits.”
I stood.
“I need the bathroom.”
As I passed the hallway, I noticed a door slightly open.
A white crib rail.
My heart slammed.
The nursery.
Susan had been right.
I stepped closer.
Pink curtains.
A rocking chair.
Diapers stacked by size.
Bottles.
Formula.
A bassinet.
And above the crib, wooden letters spelling:
EMMA.
My daughter’s name.
We had not announced it.
Only Mark and I knew.
I heard footsteps.
Diane appeared behind me.
For one moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she smiled.
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
My throat closed.
“You built a nursery.”
“I like to be prepared.”
“For what?”
“Grandbabies sleep over.”
“Newborns?”
“Sometimes mothers need help.”
I turned around.
“How did you know her name?”
Diane’s eyes flicked toward the dining room.
“Mark mentioned it.”
Of course he did.
My husband appeared behind her.
“Lena.”
I stared at him.
“You told her?”
“It’s just a name.”
“It was ours.”
Diane rolled her eyes.
“Everything doesn’t have to be a betrayal.”
I looked at the crib.
At the tiny pink blanket folded over the rail.
“You already bought newborn formula.”
“In case it’s needed.”
“You already have newborn diapers.”
“They were on sale.”
“You have a bassinet next to the bed.”
Diane stepped closer.
“You need to calm down.”
The exact phrase.
Again.
The phrase they used every time they wanted my reaction to become the story.
So I did something that confused both of them.
I smiled.
“You’re right.”
Mark blinked.
Diane narrowed her eyes.
“I’m tired. We should go home.”
In the car, Mark was silent for ten minutes.
Then he said, “You handled that better than I expected.”
I looked out the window.
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know.”
“A meltdown?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“I’m trying to help you.”
“No. You’re trying to manage me.”
He looked over.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I turned toward him.
“You tell me.”
For a second, I almost said everything.
The files.
The lawyer.
The altered medical release.
Susan.
But then Mark’s phone rang through the car speakers.
DIANE CARTER.
He rejected it.
A second later, a text preview appeared on the dashboard.
SHE KNOWS SOMETHING.
I looked at Mark.
May you like
He looked at me.
And we both realized I had seen it.
