Chapter 3
Eleanor’s car was parked beneath a dead streetlamp at the far end of the clinic lot.
I had never noticed how many cameras the building had until we crossed beneath them. One above the emergency entrance. Another over the staff parking gate. A third aimed at the patient pickup lane.
Evan stood behind the glass doors, watching us leave.
He had not followed.
That frightened me more than if he had.
Mom opened the passenger door, then stepped aside. “You can decide.”
I looked back at the clinic.
Evan had one hand in his coat pocket and the other pressed against the glass. His face was calm. He could make stillness look like patience.
The baby shifted again.
I got into Mom’s car.
She closed the door without rushing and walked around to the driver’s side. Only after she started the engine did she take the sealed red folder from her handbag.
It rested on her lap. The court seal caught the gray afternoon light.
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“Evidence Isaac wants preserved. Foundation documents. A court order. Copies of the medical records he could obtain legally.”
“Could obtain?”
“He wouldn’t open anything without your permission.”
I looked at her.
Mom kept both hands on the steering wheel. “The folder is yours, Mia.”
The parking lot exit rose ahead of us. A clinic security guard stood near the gate, speaking into a radio. Mom waited until he waved another car through.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I said.
“You don’t have to decide everything today.”
“That’s not what Evan says.”
“No.”
She didn’t add anything else. Her silence made room for mine.
We drove three blocks before I realized I was holding the printed psychiatric note against my stomach. The paper had already bent at the corner from my grip.
Mom pulled into a small coffee shop beside a laundromat. It was ordinary enough to feel safe: blue plastic chairs, a pastry case, two construction workers at a window table, a television mounted above the counter with the sound off.
“Why here?” I asked.
“Because no one from the clinic is here.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t.”
The admission steadied me more than confidence would have.
We sat in a booth near the back. Mom placed the folder between us but didn’t open it.
“Isaac said he can meet us at his office,” she said. “He’ll explain what he has. You can leave at any point.”
“What if I go home?”
Mom’s eyes lowered to the note. “Then I’ll still help you.”
“What if I tell him I made it up?”
“Then I’ll believe you’re trying to survive something.”
My throat tightened. “You should be angry.”
“I am.”
“At me?”
“Never at you for being afraid.”
The waitress set down two coffees. I wrapped both hands around mine without drinking.
“I thought if I stayed quiet, he’d calm down,” I said. “I thought if I did exactly what he wanted, the baby would be safe.”
Mom’s face changed, but she didn’t interrupt.
“He says I make things worse when I question him. He says people trust him because he’s the doctor. Sometimes I think he wants me to argue so he can write down that I’m unstable.”
“That note may prove he did exactly that.”
“Maybe he’s right.”
Mom leaned forward. “Mia.”
I looked at her.
“You don’t have to be perfectly calm for someone to believe you.”
The statement was simple. It made me want to cry.
My phone vibrated.
Evan.
I didn’t answer. A message appeared.
WHERE ARE YOU? THE CLINIC NEEDS TO CONFIRM YOUR DELIVERY PLAN.
Another followed.
YOU CANNOT MAKE MEDICAL DECISIONS WHILE DISTRESSED.
I showed Mom.
She read both and set the phone down carefully. “Do you want me to respond?”
“No.”
A third message arrived.
I HAVE ALREADY SCHEDULED THE CONSULTATION.
The words blurred.
“Consultation for what?”
Mom picked up the red folder and broke the seal.
Inside were neatly labeled sections. The first held a copy of a court order. The second held foundation papers with Eleanor’s name among the officers. The third contained medical records, including the psychiatric observation note.
A typed page sat on top.
REQUEST FOR EMERGENCY REVIEW OF PATIENT CONSENT AND RECORD INTEGRITY.
I read it twice.
“What does this mean?”
“It means Isaac believes there may be enough evidence to ask a judge for immediate protections,” Mom said. “It doesn’t mean the judge will grant them.”
“And the delivery plan?”
“We need to find out what Evan scheduled and who has authority to change it.”
My fingers hovered above the papers. “If I authorize him, what happens?”
“Isaac can contact the court and the hospital on your behalf. He can preserve the records. He can ask for a protective order. But you decide whether he does.”
Outside, a bus groaned away from the curb. The coffee shop door opened, letting in cold air and the smell of wet pavement.
I thought of Evan behind the clinic glass. I thought of Kelsey standing between us. I thought of the sentence I had never spoken and the signature I had never made.
“Call Isaac,” I said.
Mom didn’t move. “Are you sure?”
“No,” I said. “But I’m sure I can’t go back alone.”
She took out the encrypted phone. Its screen glowed once more.
BEREIT.
This time, I understood.
Ready.
Mom placed the phone beside the red folder and dialed.
My regular phone vibrated again before Isaac answered.
DELIVERY CONSULTATION: TOMORROW, 8:00 A.M.
AUTHORIZED CONTACT: DR. EVAN VALE.
I turned the screen toward Mom.
Her face went still.
May you like
The consultation was already scheduled.
And Evan had put his name where mine should have been.
