Chapter 2: The Secret Behind the Hospital Photographs
The emergency department smelled of disinfectant, coffee, and something metallic.
I sat in a wheelchair while a nurse examined my shoulder. Lily slept in her carrier beside me, occasionally making tiny noises that sounded like sighs.
Dad stood near the window.
He hadn't taken off his coat.
Renee was on the phone with someone, speaking in the low, precise voice she used when discussing legal matters.
The doctor returned with my examination results.
"Mrs. Bennett, your shoulder has significant soft-tissue bruising. We also need to evaluate the reopening of your surgical wound. Given your recent delivery, I don't want to take any chances with infection or internal complications.""
I nodded.
"Is my baby okay?""
"The pediatric team has examined her. She's healthy.""
I closed my eyes.
The doctor pulled a stool closer.
"Can you tell me exactly what happened?""
I looked at Dad.
He gave me a small nod.
So I told her.
Every detail.
The crying.
The slap.
The dresser.
The blood.
The way Derek had rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head.
The doctor listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she placed her pen on the clipboard.
"I want you to understand something. None of this is your fault. A newborn crying is normal.
Asking your husband for help is normal. His response was not.""
My throat tightened.
"Thank you.""
She left to arrange additional tests.
Dad approached my chair.
"Can I ask you something?""
I looked up.
"Anything.""
"Did Derek ever hurt you before last night?""
I hesitated.
That was the question I'd been avoiding for years.
"Yes.""
Dad's jaw tightened.
"How many times?""
"I don't know.""
"Try.""
I stared at my hands.
"He twisted my wrist when I wanted to visit you. He pushed me against the kitchen counter once. He threw my phone against the wall. He grabbed my arm hard enough to leave fingerprints.""
Dad turned toward the window.
I watched his reflection.
He looked older than he had that morning.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"I thought I could fix it.""
"Sweetheart, you were never responsible for fixing him.""
I began crying again.
"I kept thinking it would get better after the wedding. Then after we bought the house. Then after I got pregnant.""
Dad pulled a chair beside me.
"And now?""
I looked at Lily.
"Now I know he can hurt her just to punish me.""
Dad took my hand.
"Then we'll make sure he never gets that opportunity.""
A little later, Renee returned with a tablet.
"I've spoken with the officers who accompanied us," she said.
"They've preserved the original nursery footage and documented the condition of the house. We'll also need copies of the medical records and any previous photographs.""
I nodded.
Then I remembered Derek's message.
"Renee, can I show you something?""
I handed her my phone.
She read the message twice.
Her expression became serious.
"Your father was interested in your medical records?""
Dad turned around.
"What's this?""
I showed him.
He didn't look surprised.
That frightened me more than anything.
"Dad?""
He pulled a chair closer.
"There's something I should have explained before now.""
Renee sat beside us.
Dad folded his hands.
"Six months ago, I received a phone call from someone at the hospital.""
My stomach tightened.
"About what?""
"Your prenatal records.""
I blinked.
"What about them?""
"Someone had requested information about your insurance coverage, emergency contacts, and the financial arrangements connected to your delivery.""
I frowned.
"Why would anyone do that?""
"Because the request wasn't made by you.""
He paused.
"It was made using Derek's email address.""
I felt cold.
"Maybe he was checking our insurance.""
"That's what I thought initially.""
Dad removed a folded document from his briefcase.
"But then I noticed something unusual.""
He placed it on the table.
It was a printed email chain.
The first message was dated five months earlier.
The sender was Derek.
The recipient was someone named Martin Cole.
I recognized the name.
Martin was Derek's business partner.
I began reading.
The email discussed a policy connected to my pregnancy. There were references to financial authorization, beneficiary information, and a request to have certain documents prepared before the baby's arrival.
"What is this?"" I whispered.
Dad leaned forward.
"Your father-in-law's company had recently experienced serious financial problems. Derek had been trying to secure a personal loan using assets connected to your marriage.""
I shook my head.
"But we don't have shared business assets.""
"Exactly.""
Renee pointed to a paragraph.
"According to this correspondence, he was exploring whether your life insurance coverage could be increased and whether he could obtain authorization to manage certain financial accounts.""
I stared at the paper.
"I never signed anything.""
"That's why I became concerned," Dad replied.
I remembered Derek asking me to sign a stack of documents during my seventh month of pregnancy.
He had said they were routine insurance forms.
I'd been nauseated and exhausted.
I'd signed the first two pages before asking what the rest were.
He'd snatched the papers away and told me I was being difficult.
"Did I sign something I shouldn't have?""
Renee answered carefully.
"We don't know yet. But we'll obtain the complete records and investigate any unauthorized changes.""
Dad reached into his briefcase again.
"There is one more thing.""
He placed another photograph on the table.
It showed Derek standing outside a bank with Martin Cole.
Behind them was a woman wearing a red coat.
I recognized her immediately.
Vanessa.
Derek's younger sister.
"What was she doing there?"" I asked.
Dad looked at me.
"That's what I was hoping you could help me understand.""
I studied the photograph.
Vanessa was holding a folder.
Derek was smiling.
And on the front of the folder, written in black marker, were two words.
*Lily Bennett.*
My daughter.
My newborn baby.
I looked up.
"Why were they discussing Lily?""
Dad didn't answer.
Renee picked up the photograph and examined its back.
There was a handwritten date.
Three weeks before I gave birth.
May you like
And beneath it, a sentence that made my blood run cold.
*Plan B if she refuses to sign.*
