Chapter 4: The Woman Who Knew Too Much
Paula arrived at 2:30 in the afternoon.
She walked through the door with a carry-on bag, no makeup, and the expression of a woman who had not slept on the plane because she had spent the flight thinking.
Ryan was there.
He stood up when he saw her, arms open, face arranged into grief.
"Paula.
Thank God you came.
She needs people around her right now."
Paula hugged him.
Over his shoulder, her eyes found mine.
I gave her nothing.
A neutral look.
A small blink.
She pulled back and touched his arm.
"How are you holding up?" she asked him.
"Trying to be strong for her," Ryan said.
"It's been the hardest week of my life."
"I can only imagine," Paula said.
She sat beside me.
Ryan settled back into his chair.
For the next hour, the three of us talked about nothing — the hospital food, the drive from the airport, whether the baby had Ryan's nose or mine.
Ryan decided he needed to make calls.
Insurance.
His office.
He stepped into the hallway.
The door swung shut.
Paula turned to me immediately.
"Talk."
I talked.
I told her everything.
The video.
Donna.
The timestamps.
Gerald Marsh.
The flag that disappeared.
I kept my voice low and even and I watched the door the entire time.
Paula didn't interrupt once.
When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.
"You need a lawyer," she said.
"I know."
"Not a family lawyer.
A criminal one."
"I know."
"Do you have the paper Donna gave you?"
"In my bag."
"Good." She glanced at the door.
"Does Ryan know you have it?"
"No."
"Does he know about Donna?"
"No."
"Then we have a window." She reached into her carry-on and pulled out her phone.
"My cousin's husband is a criminal defense attorney in this state.
I'm going to text him right now.
Don't say anything to Ryan.
Don't change anything.
Don't let him see that anything is different."
"Paula—"
"What?"
"The baby that d*ed." My voice cracked on the last word.
I stopped.
Started again.
"Ryan was on the phone in that video.
He said 'it has to be that one.' Someone told him which one.
Someone gave him a reason."
Paula went very still.
"Which one did he want to survive?" she asked quietly.
"I don't know yet."
The door handle moved.
We both looked at our phones.
Ryan came back in and dropped into his chair and rubbed his face with both hands.
"Insurance is a nightmare," he said.
"They're asking for the d*ath certificate before they'll process anything."
"That's standard," Paula said.
"Don't stress about it today."
"You're right." He looked at me.
"You okay?
You've gone quiet."
"Just tired," I said.
He nodded sympathetically.
Paula's phone buzzed in her lap.
She tilted the screen away from Ryan.
She looked at me for just a second.
Then she typed something back.
That evening, after visiting hours ended and Ryan finally went home to sleep in a real bed, Paula sat beside me in the dim room with both our phones between us and her cousin's husband on speaker, his voice low and careful and precise.
His name was Daniel Okafor.
He asked questions for forty minutes without once raising his voice.
At the end, he said: "Don't move the baby.
Don't leave the hospital.
Don't sign anything Ryan puts in front of you.
And get me that log."
"I have it," I said.
"Good.
I'll be there tomorrow morning at nine." A pause.
"Mrs.
Calloway.
What happened to your son may not have been an accident.
If that's true, the hospital has exposure too.
That means they have a reason to cooperate — or a reason to cover further.
We need to move before they decide which one."
The call ended.
Paula and I sat in the quiet.
My son breathed in the bassinet beside me, small and steady and completely unaware.
"He said 'it has to be that one,'" I said again.
"Not the other."
Paula looked at me.
"So someone told him there was a reason to choose," she said.
May you like
I nodded slowly.
"Then tomorrow," she said, "we find out what the reason was."
