Chapter 5 - THE MAN SHE FORGOT
His name was Daniel Cruz.
Elena had dated him in college.
That much came back quickly.
They had been together for eight months.
They broke up before graduation.
End of story.
Except apparently it wasn’t.
Marcus sat across from her in the library while Victoria waited outside.
The photograph lay between them.
“Why didn’t you ever mention him?”
“I’ve dated people before you.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
“What are you asking?”
Marcus rubbed his jaw.
“My mother says Daniel accused you of stalking him after the breakup.”
Elena laughed.
“What?”
“She says there was a restraining order.”
“That is a lie.”
“She has documents.”
“Of course she does.”
“Elena.”
“Marcus, your house is literally wired to make me hear things.”
He looked away.
She hated that look.
Doubt.
Not total doubt.
That would almost be easier.
This was worse.
The small crack.
The possibility.
Elena leaned forward.
“Search the court record.”
“I will.”
“Call Daniel.”
“I already tried.”
She stiffened.
“What?”
“His number’s disconnected.”
Victoria opened the library door without knocking.
“I found something else.”
Elena stood.
“Stop digging through my life.”
Victoria ignored her.
She handed Marcus a thin folder.
Hospital records.
Elena stared at the letterhead.
St. Vincent Behavioral Health.
Her name was printed at the top.
PATIENT: ELENA MARQUEZ.
She grabbed the paper.
“This is fake.”
The chart described a psychiatric hospitalization at age twenty-two.
Paranoid ideation.
Dissociative episodes.
Self-harm risk.
Elena couldn’t breathe.
“I was never hospitalized.”
Marcus studied her face.
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Are you sure?”
The question shattered something.
“Get out.”
“Elena—”
“Both of you.”
Victoria’s expression softened.
“I know this is frightening.”
Elena crossed the room and slapped her.
Hard.
The sound cracked through the library.
Marcus shot up.
“Elena!”
Victoria touched her cheek.
And smiled.
Not publicly.
Not for Marcus.
Just for Elena.
A tiny smile.
Got you.
Marcus moved between them.
“That’s enough.”
Elena stared at him.
“She wanted that.”
“You hit her.”
“She wanted me to!”
“You sound—”
He stopped.
Too late.
Elena heard the rest anyway.
You sound crazy.
She backed away.
Victoria lowered her voice.
“Marcus, she needs help.”
Elena ran.
Up the stairs.
Down the west hall.
Into the nursery.
She locked the door.
Then she broke.
She slid down against the crib and covered her mouth, trying not to scream.
The baby kicked.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
She looked up at the half-painted nursery wall.
A tiny camera lens stared back at her from inside the smoke detector.
Elena stopped crying.
She grabbed a chair.
Climbed onto it.
Pulled the device loose.
A memory card popped free.
She inserted it into her laptop.
There were hundreds of videos.
Most showed Elena sleeping.
Some showed Victoria entering the room.
And in one recording, at 4:17 a.m., Victoria leaned over Elena’s bedside table, opened her tea thermos—
May you like
and emptied a vial into it.
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