Chapter 12: The Man Who Helped Us Fall Apart
For several seconds after Sophie said his name, neither of us moved.
Nathan.
The name that once represented comfort.
The person we called when we didn’t know what to do.
The person who sat beside us during the darkest moments of our lives.
Now that same name felt like a warning.
I looked at Sophie.
She looked completely shaken.
Not angry.
Not even afraid.
Just heartbroken.
Because betrayal hurts differently when it comes from someone you trusted.
A stranger can hurt you.
But someone you love and trust can make you question your own memories.
“Are you sure?”” I asked quietly.
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.
Sophie looked at me.
And I saw the pain in her eyes.
“Are you asking if I know his voice?””
I looked down.
“No.””
“Because I do.””
“I know.””
“He was there when we lost our baby.””
Her voice cracked.
“He was there when I couldn’t breathe.””
I nodded.
“I know.””
“He was the person who told me I wasn’t alone.””
The sadness in her voice was unbearable.
I understood exactly what she was feeling.
Because I was feeling it too.
Nathan wasn’t just someone who knew our story.
He was part of it.
And now we had to question every moment he was there.
Every conversation.
Every piece of advice.
Every time he told us he was helping.
“What did he say exactly?””
I asked.
Sophie looked at the phone.
“He told me to stop digging.””
“And?””
“He said I already lost one family.””
My jaw tightened.
“He knew about the baby.””
“Yes.””
“He knew about the divorce.””
She nodded.
“He knew everything.””
I looked toward the hospital room door.
“Then he knew exactly where to hurt us.””
Sophie became quiet.
That silence told me something.
“What?””
She looked away.
“There’s something I never told you about Nathan.””
My stomach tightened.
Another secret.
Another hidden piece.
“What?””
She took a breath.
“When we first met him…”
She paused.
“He wasn’t just your colleague.””
I frowned.
“What do you mean?””
She looked at me.
“He was my doctor before he became your friend.””
The words hit me.
“What?””
She nodded slowly.
“Before we started trying for a baby, I had some health concerns.””
I stared.
“Why didn’t I know this?””
“Because it happened before we met.””
I felt confused.
“Sophie, what kind of health concerns?””
She hesitated.
“Nothing serious at the time.””
“Then why was Nathan involved?””
“He worked in the same medical group.””
I slowly understood.
“Nathan knew your medical history before the pregnancy.””
“Yes.””
The room felt colder.
“How much did he know?””
“I don’t know.””
That answer scared me.
Because uncertainty was becoming the theme of our lives.
Everyone knew something.
Everyone except us.
“He knew about your condition.””
“Yes.””
“He knew about the pregnancy.””
“Yes.””
“He knew about the miscarriage.””
“Yes.””
I looked at her.
“And he knew about the records.””
Her eyes filled.
“Yes.””
The pieces were coming together.
But I still couldn’t understand one thing.
Why?
Why would someone do this?
“What would he gain?””
Sophie looked down.
“I don’t know.””
“There has to be a reason.””
“Maybe.””
She looked at me.
“Maybe some people don’t need a reason.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
I couldn’t accept that.
Nathan had been kind.
He had been patient.
He had been the person who told us we would survive.
People didn’t just become monsters overnight.
Unless they were never who we thought they were.
A knock interrupted us.
Daniel stepped back into the room.
He looked at both of us.
Immediately, he knew something happened.
“What happened?””
I looked at him.
“We know who contacted Sophie.””
His expression changed.
“Who?””
I said the name.
“Dr. Nathan Collins.””
Daniel went silent.
Too silent.
“You know him?””
I asked.
He didn’t answer immediately.
That worried me.
“Daniel?””
He closed the door.
“I was hoping I was wrong.””
My heart sank.
“What does that mean?””
He sat down.
“Before I started reviewing Sophie’s records, I noticed something unusual.””
“What?””
“There were multiple requests to restrict access to her files.””
Sophie frowned.
“Restrict access?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Normally, that happens when a patient requests additional privacy.””
I looked at Sophie.
“Did you?””
She shook her head.
“No.””
Daniel continued.
“So I investigated.””
“And?””
“The request came from inside the medical network.””
My jaw tightened.
“Nathan.””
Daniel nodded slightly.
“I didn’t have enough evidence to say anything.””
Sophie looked devastated.
“He was protecting my privacy?””
Daniel looked at her.
“That was what the request appeared to show.””
She swallowed.
“But?””
“But the restrictions happened at the same time information disappeared.””
The room went silent.
I looked at Sophie.
Someone had been controlling what she could see.
What we could see.
“What information disappeared?””
Daniel opened the folder.
“Several things.””
He handed us copies.
The first page was a timeline.
Pregnancy.
Miscarriage.
Testing.
Follow-up.
Then I saw the problem.
There was a gap.
A three-day gap.
“What happened here?””
Daniel pointed.
“That period is missing from the official record.””
Sophie frowned.
“That was when I was in the hospital.””
“Yes.””
“And?””
Daniel looked at me.
“That was also when Dr. Collins accessed the file.””
My hands tightened.
“What happened during those three days?””
Daniel shook his head.
“We don’t know.””
I hated that answer.
But then he handed me another document.
“This was recovered from an archived system.””
I looked at the page.
A note.
Different handwriting.
Different doctor.
I read the first line.
Patient’s spouse was informed of potential complications prior to admission.
My heart stopped.
Sophie looked at me.
“What?””
I couldn’t speak.
The note continued.
Discussion recommended with both parents regarding possible intervention.
I looked at Daniel.
“What does this mean?””
He answered carefully.
“It means someone documented that you were supposed to be involved in the decision-making process.””
Sophie’s face changed.
“But I was never told.””
I looked at her.
Neither of us had been told.
Not by the hospital.
Not by Nathan.
Not by anyone.
Daniel continued.
“There’s more.””
He flipped the page.
Another note.
This one from Nathan.
My stomach turned before I even read it.
Patient appears emotionally unstable. Recommend limiting additional information until further evaluation.
Sophie went completely still.
“What?””
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
“This was written by Dr. Collins.””
I stared at the words.
Emotionally unstable.
Limiting information.
I felt anger rising.
“He decided she couldn’t handle the truth?””
Daniel didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t need to.
Sophie looked hurt.
Not angry.
Hurt.
“He thought I was too fragile.””
I reached for her hand.
“He was wrong.””
She looked at me.
“I don’t know anymore.””
That sentence broke something inside me.
Because Sophie had always believed in people.
Even when they hurt her.
She searched for explanations.
Reasons.
Ways to forgive.
But now someone she trusted had taken that kindness and used it against her.
“What did he tell you after the miscarriage?”” I asked.
She looked at me.
“He said the pregnancy was never viable.””
My eyes narrowed.
“Never?””
She nodded.
“He said there was nothing anyone could have done.””
I looked at the documents.
But someone had written that further intervention was recommended.
Someone believed there were options.
Someone knew more.
“Sophie.””
She looked at me.
“What if he lied?””
The question hurt.
Because saying it made it real.
Her eyes filled.
“I don’t know.””
Daniel stood.
“There’s one more thing.””
I looked at him.
“What?””
He pulled out another envelope.
“This was sent to my office yesterday.””
Sophie frowned.
“By who?””
“We don’t know.””
He handed it to me.
Inside was a single piece of paper.
Only one sentence.
I read it.
Then my entire body went cold.
You are looking for the person who hid the truth.
I turned the page.
There was another sentence.
But you should ask why Ethan chose silence first.
My heart stopped.
Sophie looked at me.
“What does that mean?””
I couldn’t answer.
Because once again, the past was coming back.
The call I received.
The information I hid.
The things I convinced myself were protection.
Someone knew.
Someone knew everything.
Daniel looked between us.
“Is there something else?””
I didn’t respond.
Sophie looked at me.
And this time, I couldn’t hide.
“Yes.””
Her expression changed.
“What?””
I took a breath.
“There’s one more thing about that night.””
“What?””
I looked at her.
And I knew this conversation would change everything.
“I didn’t just get a call from the hospital.””
Her eyes narrowed.
“What else?””
I swallowed.
“Someone came to the hospital.””
“Who?””
I looked down.
Because I had spent two years trying to forget.
Trying to convince myself it didn’t matter.
But it did.
It mattered.
“Your sister.””
Sophie froze.
“My sister?””
I nodded.
“She was there.””
Her face changed.
“That’s impossible.””
“Why?””
“Because she told me she didn’t know what happened until the next day.””
I felt my chest tighten.
“Then someone was lying.””
The room became silent.
Because now we had another name.
Another person.
Another secret.
And suddenly, the question wasn’t only who had hidden the truth.
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The question was:
How many people had been protecting the same lie?
