Chapter 10 - The Price of a Grandchild
Abby didn't cry when she told me what happened on September 29.
That frightened me more than the tears.
She sat upright in her hospital bed, both hands resting over her stomach, and described the evening in a voice so steady that I knew she'd repeated it silently a hundred times.
"Glenda made chicken soup."
I listened.
"Travis said I needed to eat."
"Did you?"
"A little."
She swallowed.
"Then Glenda brought me a cup of tea."
I felt my jaw tighten.
"Did it taste strange?"
"Not really."
"What happened after you drank it?"
"I got sleepy."
She rubbed her forehead.
"Really sleepy."
I sat beside her.
"What do you remember?"
"Travis helped me into bed."
She looked down.
"Then I woke up when someone dropped something."
"Who?"
"Mercer."
I leaned closer.
"He was in your bedroom?"
"No."
"In the apartment?"
She nodded.
"I could hear them talking."
"What did they say?"
Abby closed her eyes.
I could see her struggling to put the words in order.
Then she began.
"Glenda said the appointment was supposed to be next week."
"What appointment?"
"I don't know."
She swallowed.
"Mercer said they couldn't keep delaying."
I waited.
"And Travis said the baby wasn't due until January."
Her hands began trembling.
"Then Glenda told him to stop worrying."
"About what?"
Abby looked at me.
"She said she had raised three children and knew how to handle a pregnant woman."
I felt sick.
"Three?"
Abby nodded.
"Travis never told me about another brother."
I frowned.
"Another brother?"
"He told me he had one."
"What did Glenda say?"
Abby stared at the window.
"She said she'd already lost one baby and wasn't losing another."
My chest tightened.
"Did she mean Travis's brother?"
"I don't know."
Abby's voice became softer.
"Then Mercer said something about keeping the asset protected."
I sat perfectly still.
"Asset?"
She nodded.
"Glenda got angry."
"Why?"
"She told him not to call the baby that."
I felt a cold wave move through me.
"Did he explain?"
"No."
She swallowed.
"But he said they had investors waiting."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
An ordinary fraud investigation was one thing.
But an unborn child being discussed alongside financial obligations and investors suggested something more disturbing.
I knew better than to assume I understood the whole story.
I also knew my daughter was telling me what she remembered.
And memories gathered through fear, exhaustion, and possible sedation needed careful handling.
"Abby," I said gently, "have you told Detective Vega?"
She shook her head.
"Not all of it."
"Would you like to?"
She looked frightened.
I squeezed her hand.
"I'll sit beside you if that's what you want."
She nodded.
"Okay."
Vega arrived an hour later.
She listened without interrupting.
When Abby finished, the detective asked whether she remembered any particular words about the baby.
Abby thought for a moment.
Then she said, "Glenda called him the guarantee."
Vega's pen stopped.
"The guarantee?"
Abby nodded.
"She said once he arrived, everything would be secured."
I looked at the detective.
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know yet."
But her expression had changed.
She made several more notes.
Then she asked Abby whether Glenda had ever discussed caring for the baby herself.
"All the time."
"In what way?"
"She said I would be too emotional after delivery."
I felt my hands tighten.
"She said the baby would be better off staying with her for a while."
"Did Travis agree?"
Abby nodded.
"He said I'd need time to recover."
Vega asked, "Did they mention legal paperwork?"
"Yes."
"What kind?"
"Temporary custody."
Naomi, who had joined us, leaned forward.
"Did anyone explain the document to you?"
"No."
"Did you sign one?"
Abby began crying.
"I don't know."
Naomi's expression remained calm.
"All right."
"Sometimes they'd put papers in front of me and say they were from the doctor."
"Do you remember signing your name?"
Abby shook her head.
"I remember holding a pen."
I looked down.
The image was unbearable.
My daughter sitting at a kitchen table.
Frightened.
Exhausted.
Possibly drugged.
Her husband pointing to the lines.
His mother watching.
And an attorney somewhere preparing papers to make it all look legitimate.
Vega closed her notebook.
"Abby, you've done well."
My daughter looked surprised.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"I don't remember everything."
"That's okay."
She nodded.
Then the detective added, "We can investigate the parts you remember and compare them with other evidence."
That mattered.
Abby didn't need to be perfect.
She only needed to be heard.
Later that night, Naomi received an urgent call.
A document had been located among the materials connected to Haven Ridge.
It was not an executed custody order.
It was a proposed agreement.
And its language was extraordinary.
It described a plan in which Abby, supposedly unable to manage the stress of motherhood, would consent to Glenda providing long-term care for the child.
The document also referred to a financial contribution for the child's support.
I read the copied language twice.
Then looked at Naomi.
"Who was paying whom?"
"That's unclear."
"What contribution?"
"We're still reviewing the underlying documents."
I stared at the page.
"Tell me what you think."
Naomi hesitated.
"I think the financial arrangements may have been designed to make control over Abby's child valuable."
My throat tightened.
"Valuable to whom?"
"That hasn't been established."
I looked toward Abby.
She had fallen asleep.
One hand rested protectively over her belly.
I turned back to the document.
"Glenda was going to take him."
Naomi shook her head slightly.
"She was planning to seek control."
"That's what I meant."
"And there are legal protections that stand in the way."
I stared at the page.
"But Abby would have been too frightened to fight."
Naomi didn't disagree.
The next morning, the hospital's security officer came to Abby's room.
A woman had attempted to visit overnight.
She claimed to be an authorized family caregiver.
She had identification.
A clipboard.
And what appeared to be a letter from an attorney.
The staff had checked Abby's visitor restrictions and refused access.
The woman left before police could speak with her.
I asked for the name she'd provided.
The security officer checked his notes.
"Rebecca Vale."
I felt the anger rise slowly.
"She came here?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"After everything?"
"She said she was here to discuss a medical authorization."
I looked at Abby.
She was awake now.
Listening.
Her face was pale.
Then she said something I'd never heard her say before.
"Mom."
I turned.
"Yes?"
"I want her stopped."
There was no trembling in her voice.
No apology.
No uncertainty.
I pulled up a chair.
"What do you want to do?"
She looked at Naomi.
"Can I tell the police everything?"
Naomi nodded.
"Yes."
Abby took a breath.
"Then I want to."
I leaned forward.
"Are you sure?"
She looked me in the eyes.
"Mom, they spent two months telling everyone I was asleep."
May you like
Her jaw tightened.
"I'm done being quiet."
