Chapter 4: The First Paper
“Call Dad,” I said.
Megan’s phone remained in her hand. She looked from the message to me, her thumb hovering over the screen.
“Do you want me to ask him what Eric meant?”
“I want to ask him myself.”
She put the call on speaker. It rang twice before Dad answered, the sound of wind brushing the microphone.
“Claire?”
“Tell me what you know about the house.”
There was a pause. Not a long one, but long enough for me to hear Megan shift beside the bed.
“Eric came to see me a few days ago,” Dad said. “He wanted me to talk about selling it.”
“Selling our house?”
“He asked if I’d help make it happen. I told him I wasn’t making that decision for you.”
My stomach tightened beneath the blanket. “What did he say?”
“He said you’d understand once you talked it through.”
That sounded like Eric: an answer that made my own thoughts seem like a delay in a conversation he’d already decided was over.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was asking?”
“I should have.” Dad’s voice lowered. “I didn’t know how far he’d gone. Then I found something at the house.”
Megan sat straighter. “What something?”
“A packet of papers. It was on the counter, where Claire would see it.”
“Did you read it?” I asked.
“I saw the heading on one page. It had to do with selling the house.” His breath crackled over the speaker. “I didn’t understand the whole thing, but I knew it wasn’t something you should be surprised by.”
The monitor beside me kept up its steady rhythm. I held my hand over my belly, feeling the weight of the baby there, and stared at the pale strip of ceiling above the bed.
“So you changed the locks because of a packet?”
“Because I found it, and because Eric was pushing to sell.” Dad stopped, then added, “I used my key to go in. I thought you should have a chance to see those papers before he came back expecting you to agree to something.”
The words my chance landed badly. Maybe he’d meant to protect me. But the house, the papers, even the locks had begun moving around me while I was the person whose name was involved.
“I want to see the packet,” I said.
“I’ve got it in my truck,” Dad replied. “I’m still outside the house.”
“Bring it here,” Megan said quickly.
“No.” I heard the sharpness in my own voice and steadied it. “Megan, will you go get it and bring it to me?”
She looked startled. “Of course.”
I wasn’t sure why it mattered that she go, only that I wanted the papers brought to me by someone who would put them in my hands instead of deciding what I was ready to know.
“I’ll wait there,” Dad said. “Megan, call me when you’re close.”
“I will.”
The call ended. Megan set her phone down, but she didn’t move right away.
“I’m sorry,” Dad said through the silence.
I looked at her. “For what part?”
“For leaving me out of it,” she said. “For not knowing what to ask.”
I didn’t have an answer that would make either of us feel better. I watched her pick up her jacket and fold it over one arm.
“Go get the packet,” I said. “Then we’ll read it together.”
She nodded once and left.
Officer Ruiz returned while the door was still swinging shut. She had a small camera in one hand and a notebook tucked beneath her arm.
“I need a few photographs of your arm,” she said. “Is that all right?”
I looked at the bruises. Their edges had darkened since morning, fingerprints blooming beneath my skin. My hospital bracelet slid against my wrist as I turned my arm toward the light.
“Yes.”
Ruiz asked me to keep still while she took several pictures, then wrote down where the bruises were and when I’d first noticed them. Her voice stayed even, but she didn’t rush me when I needed a moment to answer.
“Do you have your phone now?” she asked.
“No. Eric drove away with it. Megan has hers.”
“Then save anything he sends to her. Don’t delete the messages, even if they upset you. Screenshots can help preserve what came through and when.”
I looked toward the doorway, where Megan had disappeared.
“He’s already messaging her.”
“Keep those, too,” Ruiz said. “You don’t have to respond to him.”
She didn’t tell me what the messages would prove or what would happen next. I was grateful for that. I had spent too long letting Eric’s certainty fill in the answers before I’d even seen the questions.
When Ruiz finished, she slipped the camera away.
“If another message comes in, let me know,” she said. “And if you want to add anything to your statement, you can.”
“I’ll do that.”
She gave me a brief nod and stepped out. The room settled around the beeping monitor and the soft rustle of sheets.
I turned the hospital bracelet around my wrist. Earlier, it had felt like proof I was being watched over. Now it felt more like a record: I was here, I was awake, and I could ask to see what carried my name.
Megan returned less than an hour later. She came in holding a thick packet against her chest, her face drawn tight from the cold outside or something she hadn’t yet said.
“Dad said not to bend it,” she told me.
She placed the packet on the blanket near my knees. The top page was tucked beneath a plain cover sheet, its corners slightly rumpled. No one had written a note explaining what I was supposed to do with it.
I drew the papers closer.
Megan remained standing at my bedside. “Do you want me to—”
“Stay,” I said. “Just don’t tell me what it means until we’ve read it.”
She sat down. Her hands clasped in her lap, then unclasped.
I lifted the cover sheet. The first page beneath it had a bold heading about the sale of the house. Lower down, beside a printed line, was my name in dark ink.
May you like
I had never seen the authorization before.
Megan leaned over the page, and the color drained from her face.
