Chapter 4: The Secret Before Noah
“Sarah?””
Michael’s voice sounded different.
Not angry.
Not yet.
Just confused.
And somehow, that was worse.
Because I knew exactly what Patricia had done.
She had planted a question.
She didn’t need to explain.
She didn’t need to accuse me directly.
She only needed to make Michael wonder.
And now that tiny crack of doubt was sitting between us.
“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” I said.
Patricia stood by the doorway, watching.
Waiting.
She looked satisfied.
That was the part that made my stomach turn.
She wasn’t surprised.
She had planned this.
Michael looked from me to his mother.
“Mom, what happened before Noah was born?””
Patricia sighed dramatically.
“Ask your wife.””
I clenched my fists.
“Stop doing this.””
“Doing what?”” Patricia asked.
“Telling the truth?””
“You’re using something personal to distract everyone from what you did.””
Her eyes narrowed.
“You always were good at making yourself look innocent.””
Michael stepped between us.
“Enough.””
The word echoed through the room.
For a second, nobody moved.
Then Michael looked at me.
“Sarah, what is she talking about?””
I swallowed.
There was a memory I had spent years trying not to revisit.
A hospital room.
A doctor’s quiet voice.
The sound of my own crying.
And the one person who knew everything.
Patricia.
But I never imagined she would use it against me.
“I had a miscarriage before Noah,” I said softly.
Michael’s expression changed.
“I know that.””
“No,” I whispered.
“You know what I told you.””
The room went silent.
Patricia’s smile faded slightly.
Michael stared at me.
“What does that mean?””
I looked down.
“After we got married, I got pregnant.””
Michael sat down slowly.
“I know.””
“But I lost the baby.””
His face softened.
“I was there.””
“Yes,” I said.
“But there was something else.””
Patricia looked away.
For the first time, she looked uncomfortable.
I noticed.
And that gave me the courage to continue.
“The doctor told me the pregnancy loss wasn’t my fault. But afterward, I was struggling. I blamed myself.””
Michael reached toward me.
“Sarah…”
“I wasn’t myself for a while.””
He nodded slowly.
“I remember.””
“No,” I said.
“You remember me being sad. You don’t remember what happened when you went back to work.””
Michael froze.
Patricia’s face changed.
She knew.
“She came to our house every day,” I continued.
Michael looked at his mother.
“Mom?””
Patricia crossed her arms.
“I was helping.””
“No,” I said.
“You weren’t.””
My voice shook.
“You told me I was weak.””
Michael’s expression hardened.
“Mom?””
Patricia looked annoyed.
“I was trying to toughen her up.””
“You told me I wasn’t ready to be a mother.””
The kitchen went completely silent.
“You told me maybe losing the baby was nature’s way of correcting a mistake.””
Michael’s face turned pale.
“What?””
Patricia immediately shook her head.
“That’s not what I said.””
“Yes, it was.””
“You were emotional.””
“I was grieving.””
“You misunderstood.””
I laughed quietly.
A painful laugh.
“That’s always your excuse.””
Michael looked at his mother.
“Did you say that to her?””
Patricia didn’t answer.
And that silence said everything.
Michael took a step back.
I saw the disappointment on his face.
But I also saw something else.
Guilt.
Because he had not known.
Because while he was working late and trying to rebuild our life, his mother had been inside our home destroying my confidence.
Patricia grabbed her purse tighter.
“You’re really going to believe her?””
Michael didn’t respond.
She looked at me.
“This is why nobody likes you, Sarah. You collect old wounds and bring them out whenever you need sympathy.””
My eyes filled with anger.
“You hurt my baby yesterday.””
“And you’re changing the subject.””
“No.””
I stepped closer.
“You are.””
For once, Patricia had nothing to say.
She walked out.
But before she closed the door, she looked at Michael.
“She’s been hiding things from you.””
Then she left.
The door slammed.
Michael stood there silently.
Finally, he whispered:
“How much have I not known?””
I looked at him.
And before I could answer, my phone buzzed.
A message appeared.
Unknown number.
One sentence.
May you like
My blood turned cold.
*You think Patricia is the only person recording you?*
