Chapter 9 - The Note I Never Wrote
The handwriting looked like mine.
That was the worst part.
Whoever wrote the note had copied the loose slant of my letters, even the way I crossed my t’s too high.
But I knew I had never written it.
Rosa sent another picture.
The prescription bottle had my name printed on the label.
CLONAZEPAM.
I had never been prescribed clonazepam.
Detective Chen took both images and told Rosa not to enter the room again.
“Can they really do this?” I asked.
“People do worse when they think the victim won’t fight back.”
That afternoon, Margaret came to the hospital alone.
Security should have stopped her, but she told the desk she was my mother and used my maiden name.
She walked in while Renee was changing my IV bag.
Margaret smiled when she saw the police detective’s card on my tray.
“So dramatic.”
Renee stepped between us. “You need to leave.”
“It’s fine,” I said.
It wasn’t fine.
But I wanted her talking.
I turned my phone face down and pressed record.
Margaret came closer.
“You’re making Ethan’s life impossible,” she said.
“I nearly lost his child.”
“You didn’t.”
“Was that disappointing?”
Her eyes sharpened.
“You always did have a filthy mouth.”
“You put pills in my drawer.”
For the first time, she blinked.
That was enough.
I pushed harder. “Was Ethan supposed to find the note after I fell?”
Margaret lowered her voice.
“You don’t understand what he has at stake.”
“Four million dollars?”
Her face changed.
I had guessed right.
She leaned over the bed.
“My son is drowning because of you.”
“Because of me?”
“You sit on money while he loses everything.”
“It isn’t his money.”
“It should be family money.”
I stared at her. “So you pushed me.”
She smiled without warmth.
“Ethan said one hard scare would finally make you reasonable.”
Then she noticed the red recording light reflected in the black glass of the television.
May you like
Her head snapped toward my phone.
And she lunged.
