Chapter 8 - THE SIGNATURE
“I didn’t sign that.”
Rachel enlarged the scanned document.
“Megan.”
“I did not sign that.”
The signature looked like mine if you had seen it only once.
But I had signed my name thousands of times.
The M was wrong.
The final stroke was wrong.
And beside it was a notarization.
Rachel read the name.
“Thomas Keller.”
My stomach dropped.
“Derek’s golf buddy.”
“The attorney?”
“No. Mortgage broker.”
The transfer had moved my ownership interest into a trust connected to Derek.
The date was familiar.
I searched my memory.
Then I remembered.
“I was in Indianapolis.”
“What?”
“Work conference. Three days.”
Rachel looked at the date.
“You have proof?”
“Company emails. Hotel receipt. Photos.”
She leaned back.
“Oh, Derek.”
There was no satisfaction in her voice.
Only disgust.
By noon, we were speaking with a family-law attorney named Janet Morris.
Janet was in her fifties, brisk, blunt, and unimpressed by Derek’s strategy.
We spoke over video because I refused to tell anyone the rental address.
“You need separate counsel on the property and identity issues,” she said. “But as for the child, right now you need to stop thinking like someone asking permission from her husband.”
I swallowed.
“Okay.”
“You are Emily’s parent. So is Derek. That means he has rights, and so do you. Do not make threats. Do not hide evidence. Do not post about him online. Do not send angry messages.”
“I haven’t sent any.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
“What if he comes here?”
“Call police if you feel unsafe.”
“He hasn’t hit me.”
Janet’s eyes sharpened.
“You keep saying that like it’s the only thing that counts.”
I looked away.
She continued.
“Financial control counts. Threats count. Blocking exits counts. Property destruction counts. Fraud counts. Patterns matter.”
The word pattern stayed with me.
Everything had seemed isolated while I lived inside it.
One insult.
One account.
One wall.
One lie.
Put together, it looked different.
Janet said she would file temporary custody papers immediately.
“Your child is days old. Courts care about stability and safety. Keep records.”
After the call, I fed Emily while Rachel organized evidence.
At 4:10, Kelly called again.
This time she sounded terrified.
“He knows I talked to you.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“He came to my apartment.”
Rachel moved closer.
“What did he do?”
“He demanded my phone.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“No.”
“He grabbed my arm.”
I closed my eyes.
“Kelly, call the police.”
“I did.”
“Then leave.”
“I’m at my friend’s.”
“Stay there.”
She cried quietly.
“Megan, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“I found a folder in his office.”
My blood turned cold.
“What kind of folder?”
“About you.”
She swallowed audibly.
“Medical printouts. Copies of your emails. Photos of prescriptions.”
“I don’t take anything except prenatal vitamins.”
“I know.”
“What else?”
“Notes.”
“What notes?”
“I don’t know if he wrote them or somebody else did, but they describe things you supposedly said.”
“Like what?”
Kelly hesitated.
Then she read one.
“‘Megan stated she sometimes worries she could hurt herself or the baby.’”
I stopped breathing.
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the date on the note was the night of the company Christmas party.”
“So?”
“You were sitting next to me for almost the entire night.”
My skin prickled.
Kelly’s voice dropped.
“He was building a case against you, Megan.”
A loud knock exploded against the cottage door.
Rachel jumped.
Emily began crying.
Another knock.
Then a man’s voice came through the wood.
“Megan!”
I knew that voice.
May you like
Derek had found us.
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