Chapter 5
Nora took me to a small guest apartment above the clinic. It had a narrow kitchen, a couch covered in washable fabric, and a bedroom with two locks on the door.
I tested both.
The deadbolt clicked into place. The second lock was a sliding latch mounted high enough that I had to reach carefully around my stomach.
“You can use this room,” Nora said. “The clinic keeps emergency supplies in the hall closet. No one comes upstairs without knocking.”
“Who else has a key?”
“Me, the clinic director, and the property owner. I can change the lock if you want.”
I looked at her.
She held up both hands. “I mean it. You decide.”
That sentence stayed with me after she left.
I placed Richard's page, the photographed receipt, and the brass key on the table. Then I wrote everything I remembered about the balcony. The broken stone. The curtain pulling against my weight. Margaret's shoe on Rosa's fingers. Daniel's knife opening. The way he looked at my stomach before cutting.
My hand shook halfway through the sentence.
I stopped and breathed until the room became still again.
At the bottom of the page, I wrote the exact words I could remember. I didn't add what I thought they meant. I didn't write that Daniel had wanted me dead. I wrote only what he had done.
That distinction mattered. It made the truth harder to dismiss.
Near sunset, someone knocked.
I stood beside the bed. “Who is it?”
“Evan Cole. Mr. Vale gave me your name.”
I didn't open the door.
“Are you an attorney?”
“No. I work with the county records office. Mr. Vale asked me to preserve the copies you sent.”
“Can you show identification through the door?”
There was a pause. Paper slid beneath the gap. I read the name and county seal before handing it back.
“What do you need?” I asked.
“Nothing tonight. I wanted you to know the receipt has been entered into a secure record. If your phone is taken or the family claims you altered it, there will be a time-stamped copy.”
I kept my hand on the lock. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you asked the county for a witness. That request is now part of the record.”
His voice was quiet, without the confidence people used when they wanted to rescue someone. I opened the door only as far as the chain allowed.
He stood several feet away in a dark jacket, holding a folder and a paper bag.
“I brought a charger,” he said. “And food. I can leave them outside.”
“I don't need you to come in.”
“I know.”
He put the bag on the floor and stepped back.
For a moment, I watched him through the narrow opening. He didn't look at my body, my bandages, or the page on the table. He looked at the lock.
“Mr. Vale said the original document may have been removed from the house,” he said. “There may be a missing page in the copy you have.”
“I already know that.”
“Then don't search alone if you can avoid it.”
“I have to find it.”
“You have to preserve yourself first.”
The words irritated me because they sounded reasonable. “People keep telling me what I have to do.”
He nodded. “Then tell me what you want.”
I thought of Daniel's messages and Margaret's hand tightening around the banister.
“I want a record of every contact they make. I want copies stored somewhere they can't reach. And I want to know whether the page Rosa gave me is genuine.”
“I can help with the record and the copies. Mr. Vale can authenticate the page.”
“Not you?”
“No.”
The answer made me trust him more than an offer would have.
I opened the door enough to take the bag and charger. “You can leave.”
“I will.”
He turned away.
“Evan.”
He stopped.
“If Daniel calls the clinic?”
“Your instructions can be noted. No information gets released without your consent.”
“And if he comes here?”
“Call the sheriff's office. Don't meet him at the door.”
I closed the door and locked both locks.
The next morning, a message arrived from Daniel.
You are making a serious mistake. The money will stop if you don't come back.
I read it twice. The threat was dressed like concern, but it still had the same shape.
I forwarded it to Evan's secure number.
By noon, he had sent instructions for creating a dated log. I recorded every message, every missed call, and the times Margaret's number appeared without leaving a voicemail.
Then Mr. Vale called.
“The page Rosa gave you has the correct language,” he said. “But it refers to a schedule attached to the will. That schedule is missing.”
“What does it contain?”
“Specific property and control provisions. Without it, the page can be made to look incomplete.”
“Was my name on the schedule?”
“I saw it once.”
My fingers tightened around the phone. “What did it say?”
“That you were responsible for a provision intended for your child. Richard did not leave the responsibility to Daniel.”
The apartment seemed suddenly smaller.
Evan arrived later with a secure envelope and waited in the hallway while I placed the page inside. He didn't ask to read it.
When I locked the envelope away, I realized the second lock had changed something inside me. It wasn't safety yet. It was a boundary I could close with my own hand.
That evening, Daniel sent one final message.
Rosa has already chosen against you.
May you like
I didn't know if it was a lie or a warning.
I saved it anyway.
