Chapter 3 - The Baby's Heartbeat
The alarm lasted eleven seconds.
I counted every one.
Eleven seconds while the nurses adjusted the monitors.
Eleven seconds while Abby gripped the bedrails.
Eleven seconds while I stood uselessly against the wall, wishing I could trade every medal I'd ever earned for one guarantee that my daughter and grandchild would survive.
"Abby, look at me," Dr. Marsh said.
Abby was breathing too quickly.
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"Something's wrong with my baby."
"We're watching him closely."
"Please."
The doctor lowered her voice.
"I need you to breathe with me."
I had heard that same tone from battlefield physicians.
Calm.
Controlled.
Careful not to promise what they couldn't guarantee.
A nurse guided me toward the head of the bed.
"Talk to her, Colonel."
I leaned over Abby.
"Remember when you were nine?"
She shook her head.
"You fell off your bicycle in the driveway."
A tear slid into her hair.
"You told me you were never riding again."
"Mom."
"Your dad carried you inside."
Her breathing slowed slightly.
"He put that ridiculous dinosaur bandage on your knee."
A weak smile appeared.
"He bought the wrong ones."
"Because he thought dinosaurs were better than flowers."
She gave a tiny laugh.
"And the next morning, you got back on that bicycle."
Her fingers tightened around mine.
"That's my girl."
The monitor settled.
A nurse looked toward Dr. Marsh.
The doctor studied the tracing.
Then she nodded.
"Better."
I finally breathed.
Abby was given medication and fluids while the team continued monitoring her contractions and the baby's heart rate.
After another examination, Dr. Marsh explained that the pregnancy remained high-risk.
The immediate emergency had eased.
But nobody was ready to send her home.
And nobody could tell me yet whether the next hour would be peaceful.
A little after six that evening, a woman wearing a navy cardigan entered the room.
She introduced herself as Denise Carter.
A hospital social worker specializing in domestic violence cases.
She asked whether Abby would like to speak privately.
I started toward the door.
Abby caught my hand.
"Can Mom stay?"
Denise looked at her.
"Of course."
She sat beside the bed.
"Abby, I'm going to ask some difficult questions."
Abby nodded.
"You can stop whenever you want."
"Okay."
"Has your husband ever prevented you from leaving your home?"
Abby looked down.
"Yes."
"Has he ever taken away your phone, keys, or access to money?"
"Yes."
"Has he threatened to hurt you?"
A pause.
"Yes."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Denise's voice remained gentle.
"Has he ever threatened the baby?"
Abby's lips parted.
Nothing came out.
Then she nodded.
I gripped the chair.
"Abby."
She turned toward me.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize."
"I thought I could fix it."
Denise waited.
"Can you tell us what he said?"
Abby stared at the blanket.
"He said babies are expensive."
I blinked.
"He said I didn't understand money."
Her hands twisted together.
"After he lost his job, he started checking everything I spent."
"What job?" I asked.
"The logistics company."
I frowned.
Travis had told me he was still working there.
Abby noticed my expression.
"He got fired in May."
"May?"
She nodded.
Five months earlier.
He had lied to me about that too.
Denise made a note.
"What happened after he lost his job?"
"Glenda said she had a business opportunity."
"What kind?"
"I don't know."
Abby swallowed.
"They kept talking about contracts and signatures."
I leaned forward.
"Did they ask you to sign documents?"
"All the time."
"What documents?"
"Things about the apartment."
She hesitated.
"Something about Dad."
Denise looked toward me.
"Your father?"
Abby nodded.
"He left me money when he died."
I stiffened.
Rob had left Abby a modest inheritance through a trust.
I had arranged for the funds to remain protected until she turned thirty.
The trust wasn't enormous.
But it was enough to help her buy a home and give her child a secure beginning.
"Your father left you a trust," I said carefully.
Abby nodded.
"Travis said we could use it to buy a house."
"Abby, you know that money isn't available yet."
"That's what I told him."
"What did he say?"
"He said there were ways around it."
I sat back.
The trust was managed by a financial institution with specific distribution restrictions.
Neither Travis nor Glenda could simply withdraw the money.
But that didn't mean they couldn't try to obtain authorization through forged documents or pressure.
"Did you sign anything about the trust?"
Abby began trembling.
"I don't know."
"Sweetheart."
"Sometimes they brought papers when I was tired."
Denise raised a hand slightly.
"Colonel, let's slow down."
I immediately stopped.
She turned back to Abby.
"Did anyone give you medicine that made you feel unusually sleepy?"
Abby nodded.
"Glenda gave me pills."
I felt my stomach turn.
"What pills?"
"She said the doctor wanted me calm."
"Did you see the bottle?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you remember the name?"
"No."
She closed her eyes.
"But they made everything blurry."
Denise looked at the nurse.
The nurse made a note for the medical team.
I wanted to ask a thousand questions.
Instead, I counted to ten.
Then Abby said, "Mom, there's something in the closet."
I leaned forward.
"What closet?"
"Our bedroom."
"What is it?"
"A yellow envelope."
"What's inside?"
"I don't know everything."
She began crying.
"I heard them arguing about it."
"Travis and Glenda?"
She nodded.
"Travis kept saying they should stop."
That surprised me.
"He wanted to stop?"
"Not because of me."
"Then why?"
"Because of the money."
I stared at her.
"He said someone was asking for too much."
Denise asked, "Who?"
Abby swallowed.
"Rebecca."
There was that name again.
"Did Travis say Rebecca's last name?"
"Vale."
I repeated it quietly.
"Rebecca Vale."
Abby nodded.
"Glenda called her a lawyer."
I stood.
Denise looked at me.
"Colonel?"
"I need to make a phone call."
I stepped into the hallway.
Earl answered immediately.
"Ma'am?"
"Find out whether the police are still at the apartment."
"They are."
"Abby says there's a yellow envelope in the bedroom closet."
"Understood."
"Don't touch anything yourself."
"I won't."
"Tell them it may relate to financial coercion and forged documents."
There was a pause.
"Ma'am, something happened while you were upstairs."
"What?"
"The officers found medication bottles."
I closed my eyes.
"Prescribed to Abby?"
"Not all of them."
My pulse quickened.
"Whose names?"
Earl hesitated.
"One belongs to Glenda."
"And the others?"
"One prescription label was removed."
I stared at the floor.
"Keep going."
"They also found an empty pharmacy bag."
"From where?"
"A store on the east side."
"And?"
Earl's voice changed.
"The bag had a receipt inside."
I waited.
"The receipt was dated three days ago."
"Medicine?"
"No, ma'am."
"What was purchased?"
"A prepaid phone."
I didn't understand.
"Why would that matter?"
"Because the officer found the phone in a kitchen drawer."
I gripped the wall.
"And?"
"There were messages on it."
"From whom?"
"We don't have a confirmed identity yet."
"What did they say?"
Earl exhaled.
"The last message was sent at 7:42 this morning."
I looked toward Abby's room.
"Read it."
He was silent for a moment.
Then he said, "It says, 'If the colonel shows up, get the folder out first.'"
My heart stopped.
There had been sixty-one phone calls.
Forty-four excuses.
Nine brief conversations with my daughter.
But someone had known I might arrive.
May you like
Someone had been preparing for it.
And that person had been warned hours before I stepped through the apartment door.
