Chapter 2 - The Message Nathan Deleted
Leah waited until Doreen left before asking the question.
“What did you text her?”
Nathan stopped near the door.
“What?”
“Simone.”
“I didn’t text Simone.”
“I saw her phone.”
Nathan laughed once.
It sounded forced.
“You’re tired.”
There it was again.
Tired.
Hormonal.
Anxious.
Every uncomfortable question Leah asked seemed to be answered with a description of her mental state instead of an explanation.
“I know what I saw.”
Nathan slipped his phone into his pocket.
“You saw a notification from across the room.”
“Yes.”
“And somehow decided it came from me.”
“You were holding your phone.”
“So were twenty people in this building.”
Leah stared at him.
Nathan stared back.
Then he sighed dramatically.
“I’m going downstairs for coffee.”
“You just got here.”
“I need air.”
Leah felt anger rising beneath her exhaustion.
“You need air because I asked one question?”
Nathan leaned closer.
“You have been suspicious of everyone for weeks.”
“That isn’t true.”
“You accused my mother of controlling the nursery.”
“She replaced the crib I bought without asking.”
“She bought a safer crib.”
“She returned mine.”
Nathan rubbed his forehead.
“You see what I mean?”
Leah stopped speaking.
Something suddenly became clear.
Nathan was not defending himself.
He was building a description of her.
Suspicious.
Emotional.
Unreasonable.
Anxious.
The same words Doreen had been repeating for months.
Nathan left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Simone remained silent for nearly thirty seconds.
Then she whispered.
“You should stop asking questions.”
Leah looked at her.
“What did you say?”
Simone’s eyes remained on her phone.
“I said you should rest.”
“No.”
“You said something else.”
Simone finally looked up.
Her confident expression had disappeared.
“You really don’t understand what kind of family you married into, do you?”
Leah’s pulse quickened.
“What does that mean?”
Simone started to answer.
Then footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Her face instantly changed.
She smiled.
A nurse entered carrying a blood-pressure cuff.
The name printed on her badge was MAE ROWLAND.
Mae appeared to be in her early forties, with tired brown eyes and the calm efficiency of someone who had worked too many twelve-hour shifts to be impressed by anyone.
She checked Leah’s chart.
Then her expression tightened.
“Mrs. Carver, did you request a psychiatric consultation?”
Leah blinked.
“No.”
Mae looked down again.
“It says here you reported intrusive thoughts about harming your baby.”
Leah sat upright so quickly that pain shot through her abdomen.
“What?”
Simone turned her head.
Mae looked from the chart to Leah.
“You didn’t report that?”
“Absolutely not.”
Mae studied her face.
“Did you tell anyone you were afraid you might hurt yourself or your child?”
“No.”
“I had a nightmare.”
“That’s all.”
Mae flipped another page.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Who did you tell about the nightmare?”
“My husband.”
“And my mother-in-law knows.”
Mae became very still.
“Mrs. Carver.”
“Yes?”
“Until I figure out why this note is in your chart, do not sign anything.”
Leah’s mouth went dry.
May you like
Mae closed the folder.
“And do not take any medication unless you personally see me open it.”
