Part 4: The Voice on the Phone
For several seconds after the call ended, I couldn't move.
The phone remained pressed against my ear.
The room was silent except for the steady beep of the heart monitor.
My pulse, however, was anything but steady.
The initials...
They're mine.
I stared at the screen.
Unknown Number.
No voicemail.
No text.
Nothing.
My first instinct was to call back.
The number wouldn't connect.
"This number is unavailable."
I tried again.
The same automated message.
Whoever had called me hadn't wanted a conversation.
She had wanted to deliver a warning.
Nothing more.
I immediately called Emma.
She answered on the first ring.
"What happened?"
"She called."
Emma's voice sharpened instantly.
"Who?"
"The woman."
"The initials."
"A.S.R."
There was a brief silence.
"What did she say?"
I repeated every word as accurately as I could.
"'Don't sign the papers.'"
"'I've been looking for you.'"
"'The initials are mine.'"
Emma didn't interrupt once.
When I finished, she asked only one question.
"Did she sound afraid?"
I thought back to the whisper.
The hesitation.
The way she lowered her voice before saying the initials.
"Yes."
"Very."
Emma sighed.
"That's both good and bad."
"Explain."
"If she was frightened, she's probably telling the truth."
"But?"
"If she's that frightened, someone else may already know she contacted you."
Neither of us had to say Daniel's name.
It lingered between us anyway.
"I'm coming to the hospital," Emma said.
"No."
"You need sleep."
"I need answers."
"So do I."
"But tired people make emotional decisions."
She paused.
"Promise me something."
"What?"
"If Daniel shows up before I get there, don't mention the phone call."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good."
"Let him keep believing he controls the conversation."
The next morning, sunlight replaced the rain.
For the first time since my admission, the weather felt almost peaceful.
My room wasn't.
By eight o'clock, Margaret walked in carrying fresh flowers.
White lilies.
Daniel's favorite.
Not mine.
"I thought these would brighten the room."
I accepted them politely.
"They're lovely."
She placed them on the windowsill before sitting down.
"You look better today."
"I feel stronger."
"I'm glad."
For several moments she simply watched me.
Then she smiled.
"Daniel didn't sleep much."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Is that supposed to concern me?"
"He loves you."
The sentence sounded rehearsed.
"He has an odd way of showing it."
"Marriage is complicated."
"So is honesty."
Margaret's expression hardened ever so slightly.
"I hope you aren't filling your head with unnecessary suspicions."
"I'm recovering from surgery."
"My head is occupied enough."
She folded her hands neatly.
"Claire..."
"I've known my son his entire life."
"I know when he's made mistakes."
"And I know when he's being unfairly judged."
I met her gaze.
"Do you know everything about him?"
She answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
It was the confidence in her voice that caught my attention.
Not certainty.
Habit.
As though she'd spent years convincing herself of that answer.
Daniel arrived twenty minutes later.
He seemed calmer than the previous day.
Almost cheerful.
"I brought breakfast."
He placed a bag from my favorite bakery on the table.
Blueberry muffins.
Fresh fruit.
Coffee.
Things he hadn't remembered I liked in years.
"I figured hospital food wasn't enough."
"Thank you."
He pulled up a chair.
Neither of us mentioned the divorce.
Instead, he looked around the room.
"You've had visitors."
"My sister."
"I figured."
He smiled politely.
"Emma never liked me."
"She liked the version of you she first met."
His smile disappeared.
"I've changed."
"Have you?"
He leaned back.
"I've become realistic."
"People grow apart."
"It happens."
I looked at him quietly.
"Does it usually happen before or after another woman becomes pregnant?"
His face froze.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But I saw it.
The smallest delay.
Then he laughed.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Neither do I."
"Not yet."
His fingers tightened around his coffee cup.
"I think you're letting your imagination run wild."
"Maybe."
"I'd like to hear your explanation anyway."
"There isn't one."
"Exactly."
His phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen.
Then locked it immediately.
Too quickly.
The movement wasn't natural.
It was protective.
"I'm sorry."
"I need to take this."
He stepped into the hallway.
The hospital room became quiet again.
Without thinking, I looked toward the chair where he'd been sitting.
His phone charger remained plugged into the wall.
He had left in such a hurry that he forgot it.
A nurse entered carrying medication.
"Your husband's outside."
"I saw."
She began checking my IV.
"Poor man."
"He seems stressed."
I gave a noncommittal smile.
"So does everyone."
She nodded.
"He's been walking the hallway for nearly ten minutes."
"Talking to the same person."
I looked up.
"The same person?"
"I noticed because he kept saying..."
She frowned, trying to remember.
"'No, not now.'"
"'She's starting to ask questions.'"
The nurse shrugged.
"I probably shouldn't have overheard."
"No."
"You shouldn't have."
But now I couldn't stop thinking about it.
She's starting to ask questions.
Who was he warning?
When Daniel returned, his expression was composed once more.
"Everything okay?"
"Work."
"Always work."
He picked up his charger.
"I have to leave soon."
"I'll come back tonight."
As he reached the door, I spoke.
"Daniel."
He stopped.
"Yes?"
I smiled gently.
"Who is Amelia?"
The color drained from his face.
Not dramatically.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But enough for me.
He recovered almost instantly.
"I don't know anyone named Amelia."
"You seem very sure."
"I am."
"Interesting."
He forced a laugh.
"Should I know who that is?"
"I was wondering the same thing."
For several long seconds we simply looked at each other.
Then he walked out without another word.
Less than five minutes later, Emma entered the room carrying another folder.
She looked unusually serious.
"I found her."
My heart skipped.
"Amelia?"
Emma nodded slowly.
"I found Amelia."
She laid a photograph on my hospital bed.
The moment I saw the woman's face, something felt strangely familiar.
Not because I had ever met her.
Because I had seen her before.
Standing only a few feet behind Daniel...
In the background of a company charity gala photograph that had hung in his office for the past two years.
At the time, I had assumed she was just another employee.
Now I wasn't so sure.
Emma slid a second document across the blanket.
"This is where things get complicated."
I looked down.
It wasn't a birth certificate.
It wasn't a marriage record.
It was a court filing.
At the top, in bold letters, were the words:
Petition for Protection.
May you like
And listed as the respondent...
Daniel Whitmore.
