Chapter 2 - THE SECRET ENVELOPE
I followed Mark into our bedroom and shut the door.
"What does she know?"
"Nothing."
"Don't do that. I saw your face."
He rubbed his forehead. "Mom talked to the ultrasound tech."
My chest tightened. "What?"
"She knows someone at the clinic. She asked."
"We told everyone we wanted the sex to be a surprise."
"Rachel, it's not a federal crime."
That sentence hit harder than it should have. Not because of the words. Because of how easy they came.
I looked at the man who used to rub lotion into my stretch marks and call them proof that our baby was growing strong.
"Whose side are you on?"
His jaw tightened. "Why does everything have to be sides?"
From the hall, Diane called, "Mark, I need you."
He opened the door.
Just like that.
That night I couldn't sleep. At 2:13 a.m., I went downstairs for water and saw light under the study door.
Diane was staying with us "to help" until the baby came. She had taken over the guest room, then the pantry, then our schedule.
I heard paper sliding across the desk.
"He needs to sign the last page," she whispered.
A man's voice answered through her phone speaker. "Without his declaration, the petition is weak."
I stopped breathing.
"He'll sign," Diane said. "He's almost there."
I stepped back before the floorboard could creak.
The next morning, Diane left for a hair appointment.
Mark went to work.
I opened the study drawer.
Under a stack of tax folders sat a large cream envelope.
My name was typed across the front.
RACHEL MORGAN - MATERNAL FITNESS DOCUMENTATION.
My fingers went numb.
Inside were copies of my prenatal records, screenshots of private texts, photographs of the kitchen after I had been too sick to clean, and notes written in Mark's handwriting.
April 8: Rachel cried for forty minutes.
April 19: Forgot prenatal vitamin.
May 3: Said she felt "trapped."
At the bottom was a draft petition requesting emergency temporary guardianship of my unborn child after delivery.
May you like
Diane's name was on it.
And beside hers, under SUPPORTING DECLARANT, was my husband's.
