Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN BED 412
Valerie was admitted overnight.
That fact surprised me.
Her scratch required two stitches.
Her oxygen levels stabilized quickly.
But she insisted on cardiac monitoring because of the condition Alex had mentioned.
She was placed in room 412.
I was in 428.
Sixteen doors apart.
A nurse told me by accident.
I did not ask to see her.
I had nothing to say.
At least that was what I believed until my mother arrived.
Susan Miller entered my room carrying enough fury for both of us.
She kissed my forehead.
Touched my belly.
Then asked one question.
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
“Good.”
My mother had never loved Alex the way I did.
She respected him.
That was different.
She had spent thirty-five years married to my father, a man who believed loyalty was not demonstrated by speeches but by repetition.
He died four years before my wedding.
Alex had asked my mother for my hand.
She told him he did not need permission.
Then she said something I remembered now.
“You don’t get credit for loving her when it’s easy.”
At the time, Alex smiled.
He said he understood.
My mother looked at the cord around my empty ring finger.
“You took it off.”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She nodded once.
No argument.
No lecture about marriage.
No advice about thinking of the baby.
That was another reason I loved her.
Around midnight, my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a message appeared.
YOU DON’T KNOW THE WHOLE STORY.
Another followed.
ASK ALEX WHY HE WAS AT ST. CATHERINE’S WITH ME ON MARCH 14.
I stared at the screen.
March 14.
I knew that date.
It had been my anatomy scan.
The appointment Alex missed because he was supposedly helping with a warehouse fire investigation.
I typed one word.
VALERIE?
The answer came instantly.
YES.
My mother saw my face.
“What?”
I showed her.
She read both messages.
“What is St. Catherine’s?”
“A private hospital in Lakeview.”
My mother’s eyes narrowed.
I searched the hospital online.
Then I searched the date in my calendar.
March 14.
10:30 a.m.
ANATOMY SCAN.
Alex had texted at 8:12 that morning.
Sorry, Luce.
Department issue.
Can’t get away.
Love you.
Send me pictures of our girl.
My stomach twisted.
Another message arrived.
HE DIDN’T TELL YOU BECAUSE HE PROMISED ME HE WOULDN’T.
I typed back.
PROMISED YOU WHAT?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
May you like
Then the answer came.
THAT YOU WOULD NEVER FIND OUT ABOUT THE BABY.
