Chapter 8 - THE VOICE
I played the recording six times.
Every time, the same sentence.
“Sometimes I wish this baby would just disappear.”
Crying.
My voice.
Or something frighteningly close to it.
Rachel stared at me.
“Did you ever say anything remotely like that?”
“No.”
“Could this be from another conversation?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
I closed my eyes.
Then I remembered.
Four months earlier.
A terrible night.
I had been exhausted.
Mark and I had argued because Diane had announced she wanted to be in the delivery room.
I had cried.
I had said:
“Sometimes I wish all this pressure would just disappear.”
I opened my eyes.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“They edited it.”
“What?”
“I said pressure. I said I wished the pressure would disappear.”
Rachel’s face hardened.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
I searched my messages.
Nothing.
Then I remembered Mark had recorded that argument.
He had told me afterward.
“I want you to hear how you sound when you get worked up.”
At the time, I had been furious.
Later, he apologized.
I thought he deleted it.
He hadn’t.
Melissa hired an audio expert.
The preliminary analysis took less than a day.
The file had been edited.
Not elegantly.
Just enough to fool someone listening casually.
The word “baby” had been inserted from another part of the conversation.
The waveform showed cuts.
Metadata showed the file had been exported through editing software.
And the computer registered as—
Mark’s laptop.
When Melissa told me, I sat completely still.
“He manufactured evidence?”
“It appears that way.”
“My husband manufactured evidence to make it sound like I wanted my baby gone.”
“Yes.”
Something strange happened.
I stopped crying.
Not because it hurt less.
Because something inside me had shut the door.
There are betrayals that make you want answers.
Then there are betrayals so complete that answers no longer matter.
That afternoon, Mark showed up at Rachel’s house.
I saw him through the front window.
“Don’t open it,” Rachel said.
He knocked.
“Lena!”
I stayed still.
“Please!”
He knocked again.
“I need to explain!”
Rachel looked at me.
“Want me to call the police?”
“Not yet.”
Mark’s voice cracked through the door.
“My mom edited the recording!”
I stood.
Rachel grabbed my arm.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not opening it.”
I walked close enough to the door to speak.
“You gave her the recording.”
Silence.
Then, “I didn’t know what she was going to do.”
“You sent it to the attorney.”
“I thought it showed you were overwhelmed.”
“You signed an affidavit.”
“I was scared.”
“Of me?”
“No!”
“Then of what?”
He didn’t answer.
I leaned closer to the door.
“You were scared of your mother.”
He whispered, “You don’t understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“She said if I didn’t cooperate, she’d cut me off.”
I blinked.
Money.
Of course.
Diane had money.
A lot of it.
Her late husband had left her properties, investments, and a family trust Mark expected to inherit.
Rachel mouthed, Pathetic.
I kept my voice steady.
“So you traded your wife for an inheritance?”
“No.”
“You traded your daughter’s mother for your mother’s approval?”
“No.”
“Then what did you do, Mark?”
His voice broke.
“I thought we’d get temporary custody. You’d get evaluated. Everything would calm down. Then we’d fix it.”
I stared at the door.
He had just admitted it.
Rachel’s eyes widened.
My phone was recording.
“You thought you’d take my newborn from me?”
“Temporarily.”
I almost laughed.
“Do you hear yourself?”
“I was going to stay with you.”
“While my baby lived at Diane’s house?”
Silence.
Then he said something that destroyed the last piece of my marriage.
“It was only supposed to be for a few weeks.”
A few weeks.
The first feeding.
The first night.
The first bath.
The first time my daughter opened her eyes and searched for her mother.
He was willing to steal all of that.
For a plan.
For his mother.
For money.
I stepped away from the door.
“You need to leave.”
“Lena—”
“My attorney will contact yours.”
“I love you.”
I looked at Rachel.
Then back at the door.
“No, Mark.”
My voice didn’t shake.
“You love being forgiven.”
He stayed outside another five minutes.
Then left.
That night, Melissa called again.
The emergency custody hearing had been scheduled.
Two days before my due date.
But before she hung up, she said, “There’s something you should know.”
“What?”
“Diane’s attorney has withdrawn.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Then my email chimed.
A new message had arrived from an unknown address.
May you like
Subject:
YOU NEED TO KNOW WHAT DIANE DID TO MARK’S FIRST WIFE.
