Chapter 6

The operating room was painfully bright.

People moved around me in blue gowns and masks.

Dr. Patel explained the emergency cesarean section, but I understood only fragments.

Placental abruption.

Fetal distress.

Blood loss.

Consent.

A nurse placed a pen in my hand.

My fingers shook so badly I could barely sign.

"Please save her," I whispered.

"We will."

The anesthesiologist leaned over me.

"You'll feel pressure, not pain."

But pressure was not what frightened me.

Silence did.

For months, silence had meant Ethan was deciding how to punish me.

Now silence meant I was waiting to hear whether my daughter would breathe.

A blue curtain rose across my chest.

The surgery began.

I stared at the ceiling.

I thought about the nursery Ethan had forbidden me to decorate.

The tiny white crib still boxed in the garage.

The yellow blanket my mother had knitted years before I became pregnant.

She had said she was saving it for the future.

I had hidden it from Margaret.

I wondered whether my daughter would ever touch it.

"More suction," Dr. Patel said.

The room moved faster.

The anesthesiologist checked my blood pressure.

"Claire, stay with me."

"I'm here."

"Good."

Then I felt a sudden emptiness beneath my ribs.

A small body was lifted behind the curtain.

No cry came.

The silence was unbearable.

"Why isn't she crying?"

No one answered.

"Why isn't she crying?"

A neonatal team surrounded the warming table.

I could see only their backs.

"Come on," someone whispered.

Seconds stretched into years.

Then a tiny sound broke through the room.

Weak.

Sharp.

Alive.

My daughter cried.

I started sobbing.

"She's breathing," the anesthesiologist said.

"Can I see her?"

The neonatal doctor brought her near me for only a moment.

She was impossibly small.

Her skin was reddish, her eyes closed, her body wrapped in wires and blankets.

"Your daughter weighs three pounds, eight ounces," the doctor said. "She needs help breathing, but she is fighting."

I touched my lips to her forehead.

"Her name is Evelyn."

I had not planned it.

The name simply came.

My mother's name.

The woman Ethan might have killed.

The woman whose trust had protected me.

The baby was taken to the neonatal intensive care unit.

Dr. Patel continued working.

I heard concern in her voice.

"Bleeding is increasing."

The anesthesiologist injected something into my IV.

The ceiling drifted.

"What's happening?"

"We're controlling it."

"Am I dying?"

"No."

But no one looked at me when they said it.

I woke hours later in intensive care.

My throat was dry.

My abdomen felt as though it had been split open and stitched with fire.

My father sat beside the bed, still wearing the same shirt from the mansion.

There was dried blood on one cuff.

"Evelyn?" I asked.

"Stable."

"Can I see her?"

"Soon."

His voice was gentle.

Too gentle.

"What happened?"

"You lost a lot of blood."

"How much?"

"Enough to scare everyone."

I looked toward the door.

"Did they catch Ethan?"

"No."

"Nicole?"

"In custody."

"Margaret?"

My father hesitated.

"Released pending further investigation."

I tried to sit up.

Pain tore through me.

"Released?"

"Her attorney argued there wasn't enough evidence directly connecting her to Nicole's attack."

"She knew."

"I know."

"She helped plan everything."

"I know."

"Then why is she free?"

"Because knowing the truth and proving it are different things."

A nurse entered.

She checked my blood pressure and medication.

My father waited until she left.

Then he leaned closer.

"Claire, there is something else."

I saw fear in his eyes.

"What?"

"Someone entered the neonatal unit using forged credentials."

My heart stopped.

"Did they touch Evelyn?"

"No. Security stopped the person before they reached her room."

"Who was it?"

"They got away."

My breathing became shallow.

"Ethan?"

"We don't know."

"Move her."

"They already did. Her room number is restricted. A guard is outside."

I closed my eyes.

My child had been alive for less than one day, and someone was already trying to reach her.

My father placed a small object in my hand.

It was my mother's silver locket.

Detective Ortiz had found it in the safe.

Inside was a photograph of my mother holding me as a baby.

"She protected you," my father said. "Now we protect Evelyn."

A phone vibrated on the table.

My father's phone.

The caller ID showed UNKNOWN.

He answered silently.

A woman's voice spoke.

"Colonel Bennett?"

"Yes."

"My name is Rachel Cole."

I opened my eyes.

Ethan had no sister.

At least, that was what he had always told me.

The woman continued.

"I am Ethan's first wife."

My father put the call on speaker.

I stared at the phone.

Ethan had told me he had never been married.

Rachel's voice trembled.

"I heard what happened on the news. Claire needs to know the truth."

"What truth?" I asked.

She gasped.

"Claire?"

"Tell me."

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There was a long pause.

Then Rachel said, "You are not the first pregnant wife Ethan tried to declare insane."