Chapter 5 - The Nurse Who Held My Daughter
I remembered her hands.
That was the first thing that frightened me.
Not her face.
Not her name.
Her hands.
On the morning Sophie and I left the hospital, a woman with soft gray eyes had helped buckle my daughter into her car seat.
She had adjusted the straps twice.
Then she'd looked at me and said, “You don't have to earn the right to be her mother, Emily.”
I had been exhausted.
Daniel had already left to take an urgent call.
Margaret had complained that the discharge process was taking too long.
The nurse's kindness had nearly made me cry.
Now Rebecca was telling me that woman had been living under a false name for almost twenty years.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Rebecca nodded.
“Our investigator matched an older photograph of Claire Whitmore to Caroline Mercer's current professional records.”
“Why would she be at my hospital?”
“We don't know.”
My father looked troubled.
“Claire was sixteen when Sophia died.”
I turned toward him.
“Did you know her?”
“Only briefly.”
“What was she like?”
He hesitated.
“Quiet.”
“Scared of her mother.”
“And very protective of Daniel.”
I looked down at Sophie.
“She touched my baby.”
Rebecca spoke carefully.
“That doesn't mean she meant any harm.”
“You don't know what she meant.”
“No,” Rebecca agreed.
“But we need to establish whether she chose to work with you or whether she was assigned to your care.”
My father turned to Marcus, who had joined us near the greenhouse door.
“Find her.”
Marcus nodded.
“Legally and discreetly.”
“I know,” my father snapped.
Marcus didn't react.
“We also need to preserve whatever footage exists from the hospital,” Rebecca added.
I frowned.
“Preserve?”
“Before normal retention policies erase it.”
My father looked at her.
“Can you obtain it?”
“Not without proper authorization.”
“But we can ask the hospital to retain relevant records.”
I looked between them.
“Why are we talking about footage?”
Rebecca met my eyes.
“Because someone appears to be building a case against you.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“A case for what?”
She didn't answer immediately.
“Custody.”
The word made my arms close around Sophie.
“No.”
“Emily—”
“No.”
Rebecca leaned toward me.
“Listen carefully.”
“Daniel is Sophie's father.”
“He may seek parenting time or other orders from a court.”
“But Margaret cannot simply take your child because she dislikes you.”
I stared at her.
“What if they claim I'm unstable?”
“Then they would need evidence.”
“Real evidence,” she emphasized.
“Not a story invented in a hotel lobby.”
I remembered the woman asking about postpartum mental health records.
Margaret hadn't simply been insulting me.
She'd been searching for a way to turn my exhaustion into a weapon.
My voice shook.
“Daniel knows I haven't slept.”
“He knows I've been overwhelmed.”
“He knows I cried after Sophie was born because I couldn't get her to latch.”
Rebecca's expression softened.
“Those things don't make you an unfit mother.”
“But he could use them.”
“He could try.”
I looked toward the rosebushes.
My mother had been betrayed by people she trusted.
Now the same family was trying to make me afraid of telling the truth about my own life.
I stood.
“I want to see Daniel.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“Not alone.”
“I don't care.”
“I know.”
“But meeting him privately right now would be unwise.”
I looked at her.
“Then arrange something.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to hear him lie to my face.”
My father spoke quietly.
“Emily, anger is understandable.”
I turned on him.
“You don't get to lecture me about anger.”
He stopped.
“You spent eighteen years hiding the truth.”
“You let me marry into that family.”
His eyes filled.
“I didn't know Daniel had any involvement.”
“But you knew who his mother was.”
“Yes.”
“And when I told you I loved him, you said I was making a mistake.”
“I did.”
“Why didn't you tell me about Mom?”
He looked away.
“Because I believed I could protect you without reopening everything.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You protected me so well I gave that family my name, my marriage, and almost my daughter.”
He accepted the words without defending himself.
That made me angrier.
I wanted someone to argue.
Someone to give me a reason to stop feeling as though the ground had disappeared beneath my feet.
Instead, my father said, “You're right.”
I stared at him.
“I failed you.”
The greenhouse fell silent.
Then he added, “But I won't do it again.”
Three hours later, Caroline Mercer called.
Not me.
Rebecca.
The call came from an unlisted number.
Rebecca answered in her study while I sat beside her.
“Rebecca Shaw.”
A woman's voice responded.
“Tell Emily Bennett I need to speak to her.”
Rebecca's expression changed.
“Who is this?”
“You know who.”
“Caroline?”
A pause.
“That's the name I've been using.”
My pulse hammered.
Rebecca placed the call on speaker.
“Claire Whitmore?”
The woman exhaled.
“I haven't heard that name in a long time.”
I leaned forward.
“Why were you near my daughter?”
Silence.
Then a quiet voice.
“Emily?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“I was hoping you wouldn't recognize me.”
My skin went cold.
“Why?”
“Because I promised your mother I'd never let Margaret get close enough to hurt you.”
I stared at the phone.
“What?”
Claire's breathing became uneven.
“I know you have no reason to trust me.”
“Then explain.”
“Not over the phone.”
“I'm not meeting you alone.”
“I wouldn't ask you to.”
Rebecca interrupted.
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere Margaret won't think to look.”
“Why should we believe you?”
“Because I know what happened at Lake Briar.”
The room went silent.
I felt my father's presence behind me.
He had entered without my noticing.
“Claire,” he whispered.
On the phone, the woman made a small sound.
“Thomas?”
My father stepped closer.
“Yes.”
Claire began crying.
“I tried to tell them.”
His face went white.
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
Her voice broke.
“I tried to tell the detective what I saw.”
“What happened?”
“Margaret told them I was confused.”
“Claire—”
“She told everyone I was having a breakdown.”
“She sent me away before Sophia was even buried.”
My father's eyes filled.
“Where did she send you?”
“To a psychiatric facility in Pennsylvania.”
I covered my mouth.
Claire continued.
“They kept me there for nine months.”
“Afterward, she told Daniel I'd died.”
I looked toward Rebecca.
She was writing rapidly.
“Why?” I asked.
Claire didn't answer.
“Why would your own mother do that?”
“Because I was at the lake that night.”
I heard a car pass on her end of the call.
Then she lowered her voice.
“And because I watched her put something into your mother's car.”
My pulse stopped.
“What?”
“I didn't understand what it was until years later.”
“Claire, what did you see?”
Her breathing quickened.
“Not on the phone.”
“Please.”
“I have to go.”
“No.”
“I can meet tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“Your mother's old church.”
I looked at my father.
He nodded.
Claire continued.
“Eleven in the morning.”
“Bring Rebecca.”
“Don't bring Daniel.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
My father looked devastated.
Rebecca closed her notebook.
“We need to be careful.”
I turned toward her.
“Claire said my mother made her a promise.”
“Yes.”
“Why would Mom ask Margaret's daughter to protect me?”
Rebecca looked at the necklace around my neck.
“That's what we're going to find out.”
That evening, while I was feeding Sophie, an unfamiliar number sent me a photograph.
It showed Daniel standing outside a restaurant.
His arm was wrapped around a woman with long blond hair.
She was kissing his cheek.
The timestamp showed the picture had been taken five days before Sophie was born.
A second message followed.
He promised her the baby wouldn't be a problem.
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
May you like
Then a third message appeared.
Ask him who paid for the apartment.
