Chapter 3: The Name on the Last Page
The last page was a witness declaration.
I almost missed it.
It was tucked behind the lawyer's letter, folded in half, like someone had tried to make it smaller than it was.
I unfolded it under the kitchen light while the baby slept in the next room.
The name at the bottom stopped me cold.
Dr.
Patricia Howe.
My own doctor.
The woman who had delivered my son eight months ago.
The woman who had held my hand when the labor went long and told me I was doing beautifully.
Her signature was on a statement declaring that I had shown signs of emotional instability during my prenatal visits.
That I had expressed — and this was the exact phrase — *an inability to bond appropriately with the expected child.*
I read it three times.
I had never said anything like that.
Not once.
Not to her, not to anyone.
My legs found the chair before I told them to.
The next morning I called my sister, Dana.
She was at my door within the hour.
I handed her the photographs on my phone without saying a word.
She scrolled through them slowly.
When she reached the last page, she looked up.
"Olivia.
This is Patricia Howe."
"I know."
"She's been your doctor for six years."
"I know."
Dana set the phone down on the table, face-up, the signature still visible.
"What did Daniel say when you showed him this page specifically?"
"He hasn't seen it.
I didn't tell him what I found last night.
I just photographed everything and put it back."
She stared at me.
"You put it back."
"I needed time to think."
"Olivia—"
"I needed to know what I was dealing with before I said another word to him."
Dana was quiet for a moment.
Then she picked up the phone again and looked at the signature.
"This declaration is dated six weeks ago.
You were still taking the baby to Patricia's office six weeks ago."
The room felt smaller.
"She sat across from me," I said.
"She asked how feeding was going.
She said he looked healthy.
She smiled at him."
Dana put the phone down again.
This time face-down.
"You need a lawyer today," she said.
"Not tomorrow.
Today."
I nodded.
But I was still thinking about that smile.
The way Patricia had touched the top of my son's head and said he was perfect.
While her signature was already on a document saying I couldn't love him right.
Dana reached across the table and covered my hand with hers.
"Who else knew?
Besides Daniel and his mother and this doctor — who else signed anything in that folder?"
I thought about the other pages.
The dates.
The sequence of signatures.
"There was one more name," I said.
"But I don't know who it is yet."
May you like
Dana's eyes didn't move from my face.
"Then that's where we start," she said.
