Chapter 4: What the Doctor Showed Me
The doctor's name was Reyes.
She had short hair and the kind of face that gave nothing away until she decided to give something.
She turned the tablet toward me.
"This is your bloodwork from forty minutes ago," she said.
"This marker here — do you see it?"
I looked.
I didn't know what I was looking at.
"Tell me what it means," I said.
"It means there's a compound in your system that shouldn't be there.
It's not dangerous at this level.
But at a higher concentration, in the third trimester, it can trigger early labor." She paused.
"Premature and severe."
I stared at the screen.
"Someone would have to know that," I said.
"Yes," Dr.
Reyes said.
"They would."
My husband pushed through the curtain.
He'd heard enough.
He looked at the tablet, then at the doctor.
"Is she safe right now?"
"She's stable.
The baby is stable.
But I want her monitored overnight and I want to know exactly what was in that cup."
"The officer has it."
"Good." Dr.
Reyes looked at me.
"Is there anyone in your family with medical knowledge?
A nurse, a pharmacist, anyone with access to supplements or compounds?"
I thought about it.
"My aunt," I said slowly.
"My mother's sister.
She ran a health shop for fifteen years.
Herbs, supplements, tinctures.
She closed it two years ago but she still—" I stopped.
"Still what?" my husband asked.
"She still supplies my mother.
Has for years.
My mother always said it was for her joints."
My husband pulled out his phone.
"What's her name?"
"Daniel—"
"What's her name?"
"Patricia.
Patricia Holt."
He walked back through the curtain.
I heard him talking to the officer in a low, fast voice.
Dr.
Reyes sat down in the chair beside my bed.
That surprised me.
Doctors don't usually sit.
"How long has this been going on?" she asked.
Not clinically.
Like a person.
"I don't know," I said.
"I don't know when it started.
I thought they were just — difficult.
I thought it was about money and jealousy and the way some families are." My voice cracked on the last word.
"I didn't think they would actually—"
"You couldn't have known."
"My daughter could have—" I couldn't finish it.
Dr.
Reyes put her hand over mine.
Just for a second.
"She didn't," she said.
"She's here.
She's strong."
I pressed my lips together and nodded.
Through the curtain I heard my sister's voice rising again, something about lawyers and false accusations, and then my cousin's voice cutting straight through it.
"I have the timestamp.
I have the upload confirmation.
You want to keep talking about lawyers?"
Silence.
Then my mother, very quietly: "Diane.
Please."
My sister's name.
Said the way my mother had always said it — soft, protective, the voice she saved for the one she'd always chosen.
She had never said my name that way.
Not once that I could remember.
Dr.
Reyes stood, checked the monitor, made a note on her tablet.
"I'm going to need a formal statement from you tonight," she said.
"When you're ready.
No rush."
"I'm ready now," I said.
She looked at me.
Something shifted in her expression — not surprise exactly, but close to it.
"I'll send someone in," she said.
She pulled the curtain back as she left, and for just a moment I could see the waiting room.
My father, seated, jacket on his lap, staring at the floor.
My mother beside him, hands folded, not looking at anyone.
My sister standing near the window with her arms crossed.
And my cousin, still in her chair, phone face-up on her knee, watching all three of them.
The officer near the door was on his radio now.
I heard him say Patricia Holt's name.
Then I heard him say the word "warrant."
My mother's head came up.
She had heard it too.
May you like
She turned and looked directly at me through the open curtain.
And for the first time in my life, she looked afraid of me.
