Chapter 6: The Secret in My Chart
The next morning, I asked my doctor the question Eric had thrown through the door.
“Is my baby at risk?””
She looked at me carefully.
“There are complications, Claire, but we've been monitoring you closely.””
“Eric said there was something in my chart.””
My doctor nodded.
“There is a note.””
My pulse quickened.
“What kind?””
“An administrative note about your prenatal care.””
She pulled up the record.
I read it.
*Patient reports repeated episodes of severe stress at home. Possible coercive control.*
I stared.
“I didn't write this.””
“No.””
“Who did?””
“Your previous nurse.””
I looked up.
“What?””
“She documented what you told her.””
I couldn't remember.
Then I did.
Three months earlier, during an appointment, my nurse had asked why I was bruising so easily.
I had laughed.
I said I was clumsy.
She had looked at me for a long time.
I'd changed the subject.
The truth had been visible.
I just hadn't been ready to say it.
My doctor closed the file.
“Your husband cannot access this information without authorization.””
“So how did he know?””
“That is what concerns me.””
My attorney arrived later that morning.
She had an answer.
“The person leaking information is probably someone connected to the medical system.””
My stomach sank.
“Who?””
“We don't know yet.””
Then my father walked in holding an envelope.
“Victor found something.””
Inside was a receipt from a private investigator.
Paid by Eric.
The date was six months old.
The description read:
*Monitor spouse. Medical appointments. Financial activity.*
I felt sick.
He had been tracking me.
Not after the roadside incident.
Before.
Long before.
My attorney looked at me.
“Did Eric ever ask you to sign anything related to your pregnancy?””
I thought about it.
“Yes.””
“What?””
“An insurance form.””
“Did he take it?””
“Yes.””
She exchanged a glance with Dad.
“Why?””
“He said he needed it for work.””
She opened another document.
“This may be nothing.””
It was a photocopy.
My name appeared at the top.
But the signature was wrong.
Again.
My attorney said, “This is a medical authorization form.””
I stared.
Eric had apparently signed documents allowing himself to request information about my prenatal care.
He had done it without telling me.
My father slammed his hand on the table.
“That's enough.””
But I wasn't listening.
There was something else.
A tiny handwritten note in the margin.
*Confirm delivery hospital before Friday.*
Friday was tomorrow.
“Why does he care where the baby is born?””
My lawyer's expression hardened.
“Because he may be planning to appear there.””
As if summoned by the thought, my phone rang.
Eric.
I didn't answer.
He left a voicemail.
His voice was almost tender.
“Claire, I know you're angry.””
I deleted nothing.
“I know you think your father is protecting you.””
A pause.
“But you're missing one thing.””
His breathing changed.
“I never wanted the house.””
I stared at the phone.
“You're focused on the wrong thing.””
He continued.
“Ask your father what happened to your mother's life insurance.””
The voicemail ended.
I looked at Dad.
He had gone completely still.
“What life insurance?””
He didn't answer.
“Dad?””
His eyes met mine.
“There was never supposed to be any money left.””
“But Eric says there was.””
Dad reached slowly into his coat.
He pulled out an old envelope.
“My mother left you a second policy,” he said.
I opened the envelope.
The payout amount was enormous.
Much larger than I had ever imagined.
Then I saw the beneficiary.
It wasn't me.
It wasn't Dad.
It was a trust.
For my child.
I looked up.
Dad's face had gone pale.
“Eric didn't want the house.””
May you like
He swallowed.
“He wanted the money our daughter would inherit.””
