Chapter 5: What Max Had Been Hiding
I looked at his phone on the counter.
"What do you mean?"
He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.
He looked tired in a way that wasn't just the flight.
"I got a call two days ago.
Before you even sent me the notebook."
"From who?"
"Dr.
Reeves."
I stared at him.
Dr.
Reeves was our pediatrician.
I had called her about the water incident — but that had been yesterday morning.
Not two days ago.
"I don't understand," I said.
"I only called her yesterday."
"I know.
She called me separately.
Because of something my mother said to her."
The baby stirred in the bassinet beside me.
I put my hand on the edge of it, a reflex, and he settled.
"Max.
What did Anna say to her?"
He picked up his phone.
Set it back down without unlocking it.
"Mom called Dr.
Reeves four days ago.
She introduced herself as the baby's grandmother and said she was concerned.
She said you were showing signs of severe postpartum depression.
That you were refusing to sleep, refusing to eat, becoming irrational.
That she was worried about the baby's safety."
The kitchen felt very still.
"She called our pediatrician," I said slowly, "and told her I was a danger to our son."
"She didn't use those words.
But that was the implication."
I sat with that for a moment.
The refrigerator hummed.
Outside, a dog barked twice and went quiet.
"Dr.
Reeves called me because she was required to follow up," Max said.
"She asked me questions.
I answered them.
And then I called the airline."
"Why didn't you tell me any of this?"
"Because I didn't want you to confront Mom before I got home.
I wanted to be here."
"Max." My voice came out steadier than I felt.
"She tried to have me flagged as an unfit mother."
"I know."
"She was in my house.
Eating my food.
Holding my son.
And she called our doctor and told her I was unstable."
"I know, Helen."
"Did Dr.
Reeves believe her?"
"No.
She told me she'd had no concerns from your visits.
She said you'd been thorough, attentive, and asked all the right questions.
She called my mother's account inconsistent with what she'd observed."
I let out a breath.
It didn't make me feel better.
Not really.
"She was building something," I said.
"Anna.
She was building a case."
"I think she convinced herself it was concern.
I think she genuinely believed she was doing the right thing." He looked at me.
"That doesn't make it okay."
"No," I said.
"It doesn't."
He reached across the table and took my hand.
I let him hold it, but I was looking past him, at the small notebook still sitting on the counter.
All those dates.
All those times.
I had written them down because I was tired and overwhelmed and needed to feel like I had some record of my own life.
I hadn't known I would need them.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Tomorrow morning, I'm going to sit down with my mother and tell her exactly what Dr.
Reeves told me.
All of it."
"And if she denies it?"
He was quiet for a second.
"She can't.
Dr.
Reeves documented the call."
I looked at him.
"Anna doesn't know that, does she."
"No," he said.
"She doesn't."
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
We both looked at the ceiling.
Then his phone lit up on the counter between us.
A message from an unsaved number.
*She told me you'd finally see the truth about that girl.
I'm glad Maxwell is home.
May you like
Call me when you can.
— Aunt Ruth*
