Chapter 3
The ER at Parkland Memorial was chaos.
I’d made Ethan tell the paramedics to bring me here—across town, nowhere near the private hospital Diane had “reserved” for the delivery.
A nurse named Maria, mid-fifties with a cross around her neck and no patience for nonsense, got me into a triage bay within five minutes.
She hooked me up to monitors.
The baby’s heartbeat whooshed strong and steady.
I cried when I heard it.
“Braxton Hicks,” Maria said, pressing the ultrasound wand to my belly. “And you pulled a muscle in your side. Baby’s fine. You’re going to be sore for a week, but you’re both okay.”
Ethan tried to step closer.
Maria blocked him with her body.
“Family stays behind the line,” she said, not looking at him.
I loved her in that moment.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
She just grunted and kept working.
The doctor came in—young, tired, thorough. She confirmed what Maria said, gave me a list of warning signs to watch for, and told me to follow up with my OB in two days.
Then she left.
Maria handed me a gown.
“Shower’s through that door if you want. I’ll have someone bring you juice and crackers.”
She glanced at Ethan, who was hovering by the curtain.
“Want me to make him wait outside?”
I looked at my husband.
He looked pale. Guilty. Desperate.
And I knew if I sent him out, he’d call Diane.
He’d tell her everything.
“Just a minute,” I said.
Maria left, pulling the curtain closed behind her.
The silence in the bay was thick.
Ethan spoke first.
“Emily, I am so sorry. About the camera. About grabbing you. About… all of it. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“Then why did it?”
He sat down on the edge of the chair, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.
“Mom has… influence. Connections. When we found out you were pregnant, she started talking. Saying things about your family. About your mom’s depression. About how you’d been on anxiety meds in college—”
I went cold.
“How do you know about that?”
“Mom found your old medical records.”
My blood turned to ice.
I’d told Ethan about the anxiety—once, early in our dating, when I trusted him. I’d had a rough patch after my dad died, saw a counselor, got a prescription for six months. It was ancient history. Irrelevant.
“She pulled them?” I said. “How is that even legal?”
“Mom knows people,” he said, like that explained everything. “She said with your history, and the stress of the pregnancy… a judge might side with her. For temporary custody. Just until you were ‘stable.’”
I stared at him.
“Temporary custody,” I repeated. “Of my baby.”
“Only at first,” he said quickly. “She said once she had him, she could make it permanent. She had lawyers draw up papers. Said I had to sign them to ‘protect the family name.’”
“And you did.”
He flinched.
“I thought she was bluffing! I thought it was just her being overbearing, like always. I signed them to shut her up. I never thought she’d actually file.”
“When did she file?”
Ethan wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Ethan.”
“Last week,” he whispered. “The hearing is three days after your due date.”
The room tilted.
Three days.
They planned to take my son when he was seventy-two hours old.
“What else?” I said. My voice sounded dead, even to me. “What else is on that memory card?”
He was quiet for a long time.
Then he said, so quiet I almost didn’t hear: “She was going to say you tried to hurt yourself. That you were unstable. The camera was to get ‘evidence.’”
I felt the scissors in my pocket, still warm from my body.
I didn’t feel angry anymore.
I felt hollow.
“Get out,” I said.
“Emily—”
“GET OUT!”
He jumped.
The curtain flew open. Maria was standing there, her arms crossed, her face like thunder.
“Sir,” she said. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Ethan looked at me, pleading.
I didn’t look back.
I stared straight ahead until I heard his footsteps fade down the hallway.
Then I broke.
Maria sat with me while I cried. She didn’t say much. Just held my hand and let me get it out. When I finally stopped, she handed me a tissue and said, “Husband trouble?”
“Worse,” I said. “Mother-in-law trouble.”
She snorted.
“Ain’t that always the way. My ex-husband’s mama once hid my birth control pills for six months because she wanted grandbabies. Found ’em in her Bible. Page marked Corinthians.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
“Mine’s trying to take my baby,” I said.
Maria’s face went hard.
“Has she filed anything?”
“Ethan says the hearing is three days after my due date.”
“Then you need a lawyer. Today. Not tomorrow. Today.” She reached into her scrub pocket and pulled out a card. “My niece. She does family law. Meaner than a rabid dog when she’s on your side. Tell her Maria sent you. She’ll fit you in.”
I took the card.
**Caroline Voss, Attorney at Law.**
“Thank you,” I said.
“Don’t thank me yet. And honey?” She leaned in, her voice low. “Whatever you do, don’t go back to that house. Not alone. Not with him. Not for anything. You got somewhere you can go?”
I thought about it.
My parents were both gone. I had one cousin in Austin, but we weren’t close. My best friend, Lila, lived in Chicago.
Then I remembered.
Aunt Marnie.
My dad’s sister. She’d moved to a small town east of Dallas after her divorce ten years ago. We talked every few months. She’d sent three boxes of hand-knit baby blankets when I told her I was pregnant.
She’d been the only person in my family who’d never judged me for anything.
“Yeah,” I said. “I have an aunt.”
“Good. You call her. And you call that lawyer. And you don’t let that man or his mama within a hundred feet of you or that baby. You hear me?”
I nodded.
Maria patted my shoulder and left.
I showered, changed into the clothes a volunteer brought me—stretchy pants and an oversized t-shirt—and called Aunt Marnie.
She answered on the first ring.
“Emily? Honey, is everything okay? It’s two in the morning.”
“Can I come stay with you?” I said, and my voice broke again. “Please.”
“Of course,” she said, no questions, no hesitation. “I’ll have the guest room made up. Do you need me to come get you?”
“I’ll get an Uber.”
“Nonsense. I’m leaving right now. Text me which hospital. And Emily?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever it is, we’ll fix it. You hear me? We’ll fix it.”
I hung up.
Then I called Caroline Voss.
She answered, too, even though it was 2:17 AM.
“Maria’s friend?” she said, without preamble. “Give me thirty minutes. I’m on my way.”
I sat on the exam table, the baby kicking softly inside me, and realized something.
For the first time since I’d found that camera, I wasn’t alone.
And Diane?
May you like
She thought she’d already won.
She had no idea who she was messing with.
