Chapter 6: What Happened to Diane
Claire's hand went to the wooden box on the table.
She didn't open it.
She just held it.
"What did Ruth tell you?" she asked.
"She said Diane didn't go to the hospital alone." Ronnie stepped into the kitchen.
"She said someone drove her.
And that person left before anyone could ask questions."
Claire's jaw tightened.
"Ruth shouldn't have said that."
"Why not?"
"Because it's more complicated than it sounds."
"Then uncomplicate it," Ronnie said.
"Right now.
In this kitchen."
Claire looked at Marcus.
Marcus looked back at her steadily.
"It's time, Claire."
She pressed her lips together.
Then she pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Diane was seeing someone," Claire said.
"After Marcus.
About a year before she got pregnant."
"Who?" Ronnie asked.
"A man named Gary Foss.
He was older.
Forty, forty-one.
He had money, and Diane was young and he made her feel like she'd finally found someone stable." Claire's voice stayed flat, controlled.
"He wasn't stable.
He was controlling.
He didn't want her talking to family.
Didn't want her seeing her friends."
Ronnie sat down slowly.
"When she found out she was pregnant, she told him.
He told her to get rid of it." Claire stopped.
"She refused.
So he left."
"He was the father?" Ronnie asked.
"No." Claire shook her head.
"The timing didn't match.
The baby was Marcus's.
But Gary didn't believe her.
Or he didn't care." She paused.
"When Diane went into labor, she was alone in her apartment.
She called me first.
Then she called Gary — I don't know why.
Maybe she was scared.
Maybe she still hoped." Claire's hands pressed flat on the table.
"He drove her to the hospital.
He signed her in.
And then he walked out and never came back."
"That's not a crjme," Ronnie said carefully.
"No.
But what came after might be." Claire opened the wooden box.
Inside was an envelope, yellowed at the edges, and beneath it, a folded piece of paper — different, newer.
She set the envelope aside and unfolded the second paper.
"After Diane passed, the hospital flagged something in her file.
A medication interaction.
Something she'd been given during the pregnancy that she hadn't been prescribed." She looked up.
"Someone had been adding something to her food.
Over months.
It was subtle enough that no one caught it until it was too late."
The kitchen was completely silent.
"They suspected Gary," Claire said.
"But Diane was gone.
There was no one to testify.
And Gary had money and a lawyer and the investigation went nowhere."
Marcus leaned forward.
"I didn't know this part until two years ago.
Claire found me again.
She told me."
"Why two years ago?" I asked.
"Because Gary Foss died," Claire said.
"And when he did, his daughter — from his first marriage — contacted me.
She said she'd found something in his house.
Documents.
Notes." Claire tapped the folded paper.
"She sent me copies."
Ronnie stared at the paper.
"What do they say?"
"They're not a confession.
But they're close enough." Claire slid the paper across the table.
"He wrote about Diane.
About the pregnancy.
About wanting it to go away."
Ronnie didn't touch the paper.
"He's de@d," she said.
"Yes."
"So there's no consequence."
"Not for him." Claire met Ronnie's eyes.
"But his daughter wants to go public.
She came to me because she wanted to know if we'd support her.
If you'd be willing to be named — as Diane's daughter — in whatever she decides to do."
Ronnie looked at the paper for a long moment.
Then she looked at me.
"Did you know any of this?" she asked.
"No," I said.
She nodded.
Like that mattered.
Like it was the one thing in the room she could still hold onto.
"I need to read the letter," she said.
"Diane's letter.
Alone."
Claire picked up the envelope and held it out.
Ronnie took it without a word and walked upstairs.
We listened to her footsteps.
The door didn't close this time.
Marcus stood again.
This time I didn't stop him.
"I'll leave my number," he said.
"If she wants it."
He wrote it on the notepad by the phone and walked out.
The front door clicked shut behind him.
Claire and I sat alone in the kitchen.
"How long were you going to wait?" I asked.
She didn't answer.
"Claire."
"I don't know," she said.
"Maybe forever.
May you like
Maybe I thought if I waited long enough it would stop being true."
From upstairs, there was no sound at all.
