Chapter 6: The Consultation Room
Carol Marsh arrived at Briar Glen at half past two.
She was compact and precise, with reading glasses pushed up on her head and a leather case that she set on the table without ceremony.
Ellen had described her as someone who did not waste words.
Leah understood within thirty seconds that this was accurate.
"I've spoken with Mr.
Foss," Carol said, taking the chair across from Leah.
"I've reviewed the documentation he collected from the patient liaison office.
I want to walk you through what you're looking at, and then I need you to make some decisions.
Are you ready?"
"Yes," Leah said.
"The psychiatric hold was never formally executed.
The paperwork was prepared but not filed with the county because Mr.
Foss intervened before the social worker could complete her assessment.
That means legally, right now, you are a patient in good standing with full parental rights over Thomas.
No order has been issued.
No custody has been transferred.
Nothing has been removed from you." Carol opened her case.
"That is the good news."
"What's the rest?"
"The clinical notation in your file still exists.
Dr.
Rusk added it during your prenatal care at Doreen's request.
It describes you as exhibiting acute anxiety and irrational fear responses.
On its own, that notation cannot support a hold.
But it can be used in a future custody proceeding if your marriage dissolves and Nathan chooses to pursue it."
Leah looked at her hands.
"He will," she said.
"Doreen will make sure he does."
Carol did not soften this.
"Probably.
Which is why the next step matters." She placed a document on the table.
"I want to file a formal complaint with the Ohio Medical Board regarding Dr.
Rusk's conduct.
The notation was made at the request of a non-medical third party — your mother-in-law — and was used as part of a coordinated attempt to separate you from your child.
That is a serious ethical violation.
If Dr.
Rusk cooperates with our complaint — and given what Mr.
Foss has already documented, she has strong incentive to do so — the notation can be formally contested and flagged as compromised."
"And if she doesn't cooperate?"
"Then we proceed with the complaint anyway and let the board make that determination." Carol's expression did not change.
"Dr.
Rusk made a mistake.
She knows it.
People who know they've made a mistake and are facing a formal board inquiry tend to become cooperative fairly quickly."
Ellen, sitting beside Leah, leaned forward.
"What about Nathan's statement?
The one he wrote before the delivery."
"That is the more significant document," Carol said.
"Nathan signed a written statement claiming Leah made physical threats against him and his mother during an incident six days before the delivery.
The timestamp on that document places its creation at approximately seven forty-five this morning — roughly two hours before Thomas was born." She looked at Leah.
"Were you making physical threats against anyone six days ago?"
"No."
"Were you and Nathan arguing?"
"We had a disagreement in the nursery at three in the morning.
He told me my nightmare was caused by pregnancy hormones.
I told him his mother has an opinion about everything.
He went back to bed."
"That's what I thought." Carol made a note.
"A false written statement submitted as part of a coordinated effort to obtain a psychiatric hold on a postpartum mother is not a civil matter.
It is potentially a criminal one." She looked up.
"I want to refer this to a colleague who handles family crjme cases.
Not to frighten you.
But because Nathan and Doreen need to understand that what they attempted today has consequences that extend beyond a family disagreement."
The room was quiet for a moment.
"Nathan didn't do this on his own," Leah said.
"He wouldn't have.
He doesn't — he doesn't move without her."
"I understand that," Carol said.
"But he signed the document.
His name is on it.
Whatever his mother's role in drafting it, Nathan Carver is legally responsible for what he signed."
Leah thought of Nathan in the nursery doorway.
Tired hazel eyes.
The permanently tense shoulders.
The voice that carried irritation before concern.
She had married a man who had been waiting his whole life for someone to tell him what to do.
She had just never understood that the someone was always going to be Doreen.
"What do I need to do right now?" Leah asked.
"Right now," Carol said, "I need you to tell me whether you want to stay in this marriage."
Leah looked at Thomas, asleep in the bassinet beside the bed.
She did not answer immediately.
She gave the question the weight it deserved.
"No," she said.
Carol nodded.
"Then we start the separation process today, while you are still in this hospital, while the documentation is fresh, and while Nathan has not yet had the opportunity to speak with a family attorney of his own." She picked up her pen.
"I need thirty minutes and your signature on three documents."
From the corridor outside, they heard footsteps approach and then stop outside the door.
A knock.
Nathan's knock — she knew it, three taps, slightly uneven on the third.
Nobody moved.
The knock came again.
"Leah." His voice through the door was different now.
The rehearsed steadiness was gone.
What was left sounded younger, and less certain, and for a moment she almost recognized the man she had agreed to marry.
"Please.
Can we just talk?"
Carol looked at Leah.
Leah looked at the door.
"Not today, Nathan," she said.
Silence.
Then footsteps, moving away.
May you like
Carol uncapped her pen.
"Let's begin," she said.
