Chapter 3 - THE DIAGNOSIS I NEVER HAD
The report said I had explosive anger, paranoid thinking, and a history of "violent instability."
It used my maiden name. My birth date. Even the correct last four digits of my Social Security number.
At the bottom sat a doctor's signature.
Dr. Malcolm Voss.
"I've never met him," I said.
Naomi searched the state database.
"He's real. Private practice in Oak Brook."
My stomach tightened.
The report claimed I had attacked Jason twice, threatened Diane with a kitchen knife, and once said I wished Lily had never been born.
"That sentence alone could poison a judge against me," I whispered.
"Only if it's authentic," Naomi said.
We drove to the clinic without calling first.
Dr. Voss was in his late sixties and looked annoyed until Naomi placed the report on his desk.
Then he went pale.
"This is my letterhead," he said. "That is not my report."
"Is that your signature?"
He stared.
"It's a scan of it."
"Who has access?"
"My staff. Insurance companies. Attorneys."
His eyes stopped on Jason's name.
"Bennett?"
I leaned forward.
"You know him?"
"No. But I know his mother. Diane Bennett organized a hospital foundation event last winter. My office donated records for a medical-ethics audit."
Naomi's phone buzzed.
She read the message twice.
"Emily, your order hearing got moved up. Two o'clock today."
"Why?"
"Because Jason's lawyer told the court you're preparing to flee Illinois with Lily."
I laughed once, because the alternative was screaming.
"Based on what?"
Naomi showed me the attachment.
A photograph of me at O'Hare Airport.
Holding Lily.
Standing beneath an international departures sign.
May you like
The timestamp said it had been taken that morning.
But that morning, I had been sitting in Naomi's office.
