Chapter 4 - THE HOSPITAL HALLWAY
Ethan did not remember grabbing the car keys.
He did not remember telling anyone to move.
He only remembered Hannah's weight against his arm as he guided her through the front door.
"Slow down."
Her voice was thin.
"I'm trying."
"No, you need to slow down."
He stopped instantly.
Hannah bent forward and gripped the porch rail.
A tightening passed across her face.
Ethan counted the seconds in his head.
Twenty-three.
Twenty-four.
Twenty-five.
When the pain eased, she exhaled shakily.
"That was another one."
"Another contraction?"
"I think so."
His hands began to shake.
"How many?"
"Three since you got home."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you were already furious."
The answer hit him harder than any accusation his family had made.
Hannah was eight months pregnant, possibly going into early labor, and she had still been managing his emotions before her own fear.
He opened the passenger door and helped her into the car.
Lorraine came outside behind them.
"Ethan."
He did not turn.
"This is not the time."
"I agree."
She lowered her voice.
"Which is why you should stop frightening her."
Ethan looked over his shoulder.
"You think I frightened her?"
"You came in shouting."
"She was crying before I arrived."
"Pregnant women cry."
Hannah closed her eyes.
Ethan felt something hot rise through his chest.
He forced it down.
"Go inside."
"I am her family too."
"Tonight you are the reason she is afraid to speak."
Lorraine's face hardened.
"You have no idea what has been happening in this house while you have been gone."
"You're right."
Ethan shut Hannah's door gently.
"And I am going to find out."
He drove to St. Matthew's Medical Center with both hands locked around the steering wheel.
Hannah sat reclined with her seat belt low across her hips.
Every few minutes Ethan glanced at her.
Every time, she gave him the same weak smile.
"Keep your eyes on the road."
"Tell me if it hurts again."
"I will."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
At the emergency entrance, a nurse brought a wheelchair before Ethan had fully stopped the car.
Within ten minutes Hannah was in obstetric triage with monitors strapped around her belly.
The room filled with the quick rhythm of their baby's heartbeat.
Ethan had never been so grateful for a sound in his life.
Hannah started crying again.
This time he held her hand and let her.
Dr. Patel arrived twenty minutes later.
She looked at the monitor.
Then at Hannah.
Then at Ethan.
"The baby looks reassuring right now."
Ethan released the breath he had been holding.
"What happened?"
"She is having contractions."
Hannah looked at the monitor.
"Am I in labor?"
"Not necessarily."
Dr. Patel checked Hannah's chart.
"Your blood pressure is higher than I would like."
"How high?"
"High enough that I want to keep you here for observation."
Ethan pulled a chair closer.
"Could stress cause this?"
Dr. Patel chose her words carefully.
"Stress can contribute to elevated blood pressure and contractions, especially when someone is dehydrated and physically exhausted."
Hannah looked embarrassed.
"I didn't drink much water today."
"Why not?"
"I was busy."
Dr. Patel glanced at Ethan.
He looked away.
"How long were you standing?"
Hannah hesitated.
"Most of the afternoon."
"Doing what?"
"Cooking."
"And cleaning."
"Yes."
Dr. Patel's expression became firm.
"We discussed this three days ago."
"I know."
"You need to take the restrictions seriously."
"I tried."
The last two words were barely audible.
Dr. Patel's tone softened.
"Did someone prevent you from resting?"
Hannah stared at the blanket.
Ethan's chest tightened.
"You can answer her."
Hannah looked at him.
There was that same fear again.
Not fear of what had happened.
Fear of what would happen if she told the truth.
"My husband's family has been staying with us."
Dr. Patel nodded slowly.
"Were they asking you to do things you were told not to do?"
"They didn't exactly ask."
"What does that mean?"
Hannah swallowed.
"If I sat down, his mother would start doing things herself and make comments about how some women use pregnancy as an excuse."
Ethan looked at her.
"She said that?"
Hannah nodded.
"How many times?"
"A lot."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Dr. Patel raised a hand.
"Not right now."
Ethan stopped.
She looked at Hannah.
"Has anyone threatened you?"
"No."
"Physically hurt you?"
"No."
"Restricted your access to your phone, transportation, medication, money, or medical care?"
Hannah opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Ethan saw it.
Dr. Patel saw it too.
"Hannah?"
"My car keys disappeared twice."
Ethan sat forward.
"What?"
"Your mother said I probably misplaced them."
"Where did you find them?"
"The first time, in her purse."
The room went quiet.
"She said she picked them up by accident."
"And the second time?"
"I never found them."
Ethan stared at her.
"You haven't had your keys for how long?"
"Nine days."
He stood so abruptly that the chair scraped across the floor.
"Ethan."
Hannah's voice stopped him.
He turned.
"Please don't go back there angry."
"I'm not leaving you."
"I know."
She reached for him.
"But don't do something you can't undo."
He sat again.
Dr. Patel watched both of them carefully.
"I'm going to have a social worker speak with you privately, Hannah."
Lorraine would have called that humiliating.
Madison would have called it dramatic.
Ethan felt only relief.
Someone trained to ask the right questions was finally asking them.
An hour later, Hannah was resting with an IV in her arm.
The contractions had slowed.
Her blood pressure was beginning to come down.
Ethan stood in the hallway and called David.
"The signature is forged."
"You're certain?"
"Hannah is certain."
"That matters."
"Her medical folder is missing too."
"That matters more than you think."
"Why?"
"Because those forms contain her signature samples, insurance information, birth date, and probably her Social Security number."
Ethan felt his stomach drop.
"You think they used the medical records to copy her signature?"
"I think you should not assume this is about one document."
Ethan looked through the glass door toward Hannah.
She was asleep now.
"What do I do?"
"First, keep her safe."
"Then?"
"Freeze your credit."
"Mine?"
"Yours and hers."
"Why?"
David was silent for half a second.
"Because I ran the property record while we were talking."
Ethan's grip tightened around the phone.
"And?"
"There was a filing against your address eleven days ago."
"What kind of filing?"
"A notice connected to a private line of credit."
Ethan leaned against the wall.
"We don't have a private line of credit."
"According to the county record, somebody does."
"How much?"
David exhaled.
"Two hundred and eighty thousand dollars."
Ethan closed his eyes.
"Whose name?"
"That's the part I need you to hear calmly."
"David."
"The borrower listed on the preliminary filing is Hannah Cole."
Ethan stared through the glass at his sleeping wife.
May you like
And for the first time that night, he understood why someone might have wanted her medical folder.
