Chapter 10: The Person Who Knew Us Best
The name on the document seemed impossible.
I stared at it.
Then I looked at Sophie.
Then back at the paper.
My brain kept trying to reject what I was seeing.
Because the person listed on that report wasn’t a stranger.
Wasn’t someone from the hospital.
Wasn’t someone we had never met.
It was someone who had sat at our dinner table.
Someone who had laughed with us.
Someone who had watched our marriage from the inside.
Someone we trusted.
“Sophie…”
My voice was barely above a whisper.
She didn’t answer.
She just stared at the name.
Her face had lost all color.
Daniel noticed her reaction.
“You know this person?””
Sophie slowly nodded.
“Yes.””
Her voice shook.
“I know him.””
I looked at the document again.
The name stared back at me.
Dr. Nathan Collins.
My old friend.
My former colleague.
And the man Sophie had once called “the only person who understood what we were going through.””
I felt sick.
No.
That couldn’t be right.
Nathan wasn’t just someone we knew.
He was the person who helped us after our first miscarriage.
He was the person who brought food to our apartment when Sophie was too devastated to cook.
He was the person who sat with me for hours when I couldn’t understand how to help my wife.
He was the person I trusted.
“How?”” I asked.
Sophie looked at me.
Her eyes were filled with disbelief.
“I don’t know.””
Daniel placed the document on the table.
“The records show Dr. Collins accessed the file three months after the miscarriage.””
I shook my head.
“Why would he have access?””
Daniel looked at me.
“That’s what we need to understand.””
I stood up.
“There has to be an explanation.””
Sophie looked at me.
“Ethan.””
I stopped.
Her voice wasn’t accusing.
It was warning.
“You trust him.””
I didn’t answer.
Because she was right.
I did.
Or at least, I had.
Nathan was one of the few people who knew everything about us.
He knew about the pregnancies.
The losses.
The problems in our marriage.
He knew things even our families didn’t know.
And suddenly, that felt terrifying.
“How did you get this?”” I asked Daniel.
He opened the file.
“When Sophie requested her medical records, she contacted my firm because she believed there were inconsistencies.””
Sophie looked down.
“I didn’t think it would lead here.””
Daniel continued.
“We reviewed the access history.””
“And?””
“And Dr. Collins accessed information that was outside his original involvement.””
I frowned.
“Meaning?””
“Meaning he wasn’t listed as one of the doctors directly responsible for Sophie’s treatment.””
The room became quiet.
“So why was he looking?””
Daniel shook his head.
“That’s the question.””
I looked at Sophie.
She was holding herself tightly.
Like she was trying not to fall apart.
“What did Nathan tell you after the miscarriage?””
She looked at me.
“I don’t remember.””
“Think.””
She closed her eyes.
Then slowly said:
“He told me the doctors didn’t know why it happened.””
I felt a chill.
“And?””
“He told me I shouldn’t blame myself.””
That sounded exactly like Nathan.
Kind.
Supportive.
The kind of thing someone says when they’re trying to help.
But now I wondered.
What else had he known?
“What about after the divorce?””
Sophie hesitated.
“He checked on me.””
My stomach tightened.
“He did?””
She nodded.
“Sometimes.””
“How often?””
She looked uncomfortable.
“More than you would probably like.””
I felt a strange feeling in my chest.
Not jealousy.
Something else.
A warning.
“What do you mean?””
“He called.””
“When?””
“After the divorce.””
“Why?””
“He said he was worried.””
I looked away.
The irony almost hurt.
Everyone was worried about Sophie.
Everyone except me.
“Did he know about your diagnosis?””
She was quiet.
Then nodded.
“Yes.””
“How?””
Her expression changed.
“I told him.””
I stared at her.
“You told him before me?””
She looked hurt.
“Ethan.””
I immediately regretted my tone.
That wasn’t fair.
She had been alone.
She had reached for whoever she thought was safe.
I softened.
“I’m sorry.””
She looked down.
“I didn’t tell him because he mattered more.””
“I know.””
“I told him because he was already involved.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
She looked at me.
“He was the one who helped me understand my medical records.””
A cold feeling moved through me.
“What?””
“When I was confused about the diagnosis, I showed him the paperwork.””
My mind raced.
“Sophie…”
She realized what I was thinking.
“No.””
Her voice was immediate.
“He wouldn’t.””
I looked at the document.
“Wouldn’t he?””
She looked away.
And that was the first time I saw doubt in her eyes.
Real doubt.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Doubt.
The kind that appears when someone you trusted suddenly becomes a question mark.
Daniel closed the file.
“There is something else.””
I looked at him.
“What?””
“The access wasn’t the only unusual thing.””
Sophie looked up.
“What else?””
“There was a second file.””
“What file?””
Daniel pulled out another document.
“This one was created after the miscarriage.””
He placed it in front of us.
I read the title.
Genetic Consultation Summary.
My heart started racing.
“Why wasn’t this in my records?””
Daniel looked at Sophie.
“Because it wasn’t your personal medical record.””
She frowned.
“Then whose was it?””
He paused.
“Your child’s.””
The room went silent.
I felt Sophie’s hand move toward mine.
Not intentionally.
Not consciously.
But she reached for me.
And I held on.
Because for the first time in years, we were facing something together.
“What does it say?”” Sophie asked.
Daniel opened the document.
“The consultation suggested additional testing.””
“Again,” I whispered.
“Yes.””
“Why?””
He looked at the report.
“Because the initial findings were unusual.””
I waited.
“The doctor who wrote this believed there was a possibility that further analysis could provide important information about inherited conditions.””
Sophie swallowed.
“And did they do it?””
Daniel looked at her.
“That’s where things become complicated.””
“What happened?””
“The follow-up request was denied.””
“Denied by who?””
Daniel looked at the paper.
“The approval was rejected by someone with administrative authority.””
I felt anger rising.
“Who?””
Daniel hesitated.
Then answered:
“The request was reviewed by someone at the hospital.””
“Name?””
He looked at me.
“Dr. Nathan Collins.””
The room felt like it tilted.
Sophie covered her mouth.
“No.””
I looked at her.
“Sophie.””
She shook her head.
“No.””
Her voice broke.
“He helped us.””
I knew exactly what she meant.
Because I remembered.
Nathan sitting beside us after the miscarriage.
Nathan telling us everything would be okay.
Nathan telling me not to blame myself.
Nathan telling Sophie she was strong.
How could that person also be connected to this?
“I need to talk to him,” I said.
Sophie looked at me.
“No.””
The answer surprised me.
“No?””
She shook her head.
“Not yet.””
“Why?””
“Because if he’s involved…”
She stopped.
She didn’t need to finish.
Because if Nathan was involved, confronting him too early could destroy whatever evidence existed.
Daniel nodded.
“She’s right.””
I looked at him.
“You think he’s hiding something?””
“I think there are unanswered questions.””
That was the safest answer.
But it didn’t make me feel better.
“What do we do?””
Daniel looked at Sophie.
“First, we protect your medical information.””
Then he looked at me.
“Second, we find out why someone wanted this hidden.””
I looked at Sophie.
She looked exhausted.
But beneath the fear, I saw something else.
Determination.
The same woman I fell in love with.
The woman who survived things she never should have had to survive.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
She looked at me.
“For what?””
“For not seeing this.””
Her eyes softened.
“You weren’t supposed to.””
“What?””
She looked down.
“Because I hid it.””
I shook my head.
“You hid it because you were scared.””
She nodded.
“And you were scared too.””
That was the first time she said it.
Not as an accusation.
As understanding.
We were both afraid.
We just handled fear differently.
I ran.
She stayed silent.
And somewhere in between, we lost each other.
A few hours later, after Daniel left, I walked Sophie through the hospital hallway.
She needed movement.
The doctor said it was good for her recovery.
We walked slowly.
Carefully.
For a few minutes, it almost felt normal.
Like we were just a married couple walking through a hospital together.
Then Sophie stopped.
“What?””
She looked toward the elevators.
“I remember something.””
“What?””
She looked at me.
“Something Nathan said.””
My heart tightened.
“What?””
“After the miscarriage.””
I waited.
“He told me something strange.””
“What did he say?””
She swallowed.
“He said…”
Her face changed.
Like she was hearing the words again.
“He said, ‘Sometimes the truth hurts more than the loss itself.’”
A cold feeling moved through me.
“What did he mean?””
“I don’t know.””
We stood there silently.
Then my phone buzzed.
Another unknown number.
This time, a message.
I opened it.
And immediately felt my blood run cold.
It was a picture.
A photograph.
Of Sophie and me.
From the day we buried the memory of our second pregnancy.
But there was something different.
Someone had written on the bottom of the image.
A message.
You should have listened when I told you to let go.
I looked at Sophie.
She saw my expression.
“What is it?””
I didn’t answer.
Because I finally understood something.
Whoever was behind this wasn’t just hiding information.
They were watching us.
And they knew exactly how to hurt us.
Then another message appeared.
This time with a name.
Not Nathan.
Someone else.
Someone I never expected.
Ask Ethan why he never told Sophie what happened the night of the miscarriage.
My heart stopped.
Because there was one problem.
I knew that night.
I remembered everything.
But there was one thing I had never told Sophie.
A memory I buried because I thought protecting her meant keeping it secret.
May you like
And now someone else knew.
A secret that belonged to me.
