Chapter 12 - THE TRACKER
Security searched Olivia's SUV.
Under the rear bumper, they found a magnetic GPS tracker.
I sat on the hospital bed with both hands around my stomach while an officer sealed it in an evidence bag.
"Do you recognize this device?" he asked.
I didn't.
Mark did.
When police showed him a photo, he admitted Diane had bought two trackers months earlier "for luggage."
My husband had known she owned them.
Another fact he had forgotten until it became dangerous.
By midnight, my blood pressure came down enough that Dr. Patel let me go home with Olivia under strict instructions to rest.
Rest.
The word felt almost insulting.
At Olivia's apartment, Maya had arranged for a temporary protective order request based on stalking, harassment, and the hospital incidents.
Then the doorbell camera alerted.
A man in a delivery jacket stood outside holding a package.
Olivia checked the tracking number.
Fake.
She called police instead of opening the door.
The man left before officers arrived.
The package stayed on the mat.
Bomb squad was not necessary, police decided, but they opened it outside.
Inside was my hospital bag.
The same one Diane had thrown on the floor.
Everything had been repacked neatly.
My mother's yellow blanket sat on top.
Under it was a newborn outfit I had never seen.
Blue.
Across the chest, in embroidered letters, were the words:
GRANDMA'S LITTLE MAN.
Olivia swore.
I couldn't speak.
Then an officer pulled a folded paper from beneath the outfit.
It was a photocopy of a birth certificate form.
Mother: Rachel Morgan.
Father: Mark Morgan.
Emergency contact: Diane Morgan.
And in the blank labeled Child's Name, someone had already typed:
CHARLES EDWARD MORGAN III.
May you like
That wasn't the name Mark and I had chosen.
It was Diane's dead husband's name.
