Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN BY THE WINDOW
Simone kept staring at Leah for several seconds after lowering her phone.
The faint smile she had worn all afternoon disappeared completely.
“You ask a lot of questions for someone I met four hours ago,” she said.
Leah adjusted the hospital blanket over her legs.
“You lie loudly for someone sharing a room.”
For a moment, neither woman spoke.
Then Simone glanced toward the open doorway.
A nurse rolled a medication cart past them.
Only after the wheels faded down the hall did Simone lean back against her pillow.
“My boyfriend thinks I’m in Arizona.”
Leah looked at her stomach.
“You’re eight months pregnant.”
“I’m aware.”
“And he doesn’t know?”
Simone gave a quiet laugh that contained no humor.
“He knows I was pregnant.”
Leah waited.
Simone turned her phone facedown.
“He thinks I lost the baby four months ago.”
Leah felt something tighten in her chest.
“That’s a pretty big thing to hide.”
“So is being admitted to a hospital your mother-in-law helped finance.”
Leah looked sharply at her.
Simone’s expression changed again.
This time, it wasn’t embarrassment.
It was warning.
“You should stop looking surprised every time someone knows something about you in this place,” Simone said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Briar Glen isn’t a normal hospital.”
Leah stared at her.
Simone shifted toward the window.
Outside, clouds had begun gathering over Columbus.
A thin August rain streaked the glass.
Leah could hear the distant beeping of monitors from the hallway and the soft squeak of rubber shoes against polished floors.
Everything looked ordinary.
That was suddenly what frightened her.
“What do you know about Briar Glen?” Leah asked.
Simone rubbed one hand slowly across her stomach.
“I know people with money don’t come here because the rooms are nice.”
“Then why do they come?”
“Because privacy can be purchased.”
Leah said nothing.
Simone continued.
“And sometimes paperwork can be purchased too.”
Before Leah could respond, footsteps approached the room.
Simone immediately picked up her phone and began scrolling.
A second later, Doreen Carver entered.
She did not knock.
She never knocked.
Doreen was sixty-two, elegant in a way that made ordinary people feel underdressed simply by standing near her.
Her silver-blond hair was swept neatly behind her ears.
A pearl necklace rested against the collar of her cream coat.
She carried an expensive leather handbag in one hand and a paper shopping bag in the other.
“There she is,” Doreen said brightly.
Leah forced a smile.
“Hi.”
Doreen walked to the bed and kissed the air beside Leah’s cheek.
“You look exhausted.”
“I’ve been here six hours.”
“Yes, but you look unusually tired.”
Leah’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m pregnant.”
Doreen smiled as though Leah had made a childish joke.
“Of course.”
She placed the shopping bag on the bedside table.
“I brought you proper toiletries.”
“I packed toiletries.”
“I saw what you packed.”
Leah glanced at the canvas overnight bag under the chair.
“You went through my bag?”
“I was trying to help.”
Doreen began removing items from the shopping bag.
A new toothbrush.
Expensive face wash.
A silk eye mask.
A bottle of lavender sleep spray.
Then she placed a small amber prescription bottle beside the toiletries.
Leah looked at it.
“What’s that?”
“Something mild.”
“For what?”
“Your nerves.”
Leah did not touch it.
“I didn’t ask for anything.”
“Dr. Rusk thought you might have trouble sleeping.”
Leah’s attention sharpened.
“Dr. Rusk prescribed medication without talking to me?”
Doreen’s expression remained calm.
“It isn’t medication in the dramatic sense.”
“Then what sense is it?”
“Leah.”
Doreen sighed.
“This is exactly what Nathan and I were discussing.”
Leah felt an immediate chill.
“What were you discussing?”
“Your anxiety.”
Leah stared at her.
“My anxiety?”
“You haven’t been sleeping.”
“I woke up from one nightmare.”
“You’ve had several episodes.”
“What episodes?”
Doreen tilted her head.
“The nursery incident.”
Leah almost laughed.
“What nursery incident?”
“You sat alone in the dark for nearly half an hour.”
“At three in the morning after a nightmare.”
“And Nathan found you crying.”
“I wasn’t crying.”
Doreen gave her a patient look.
“Sweetheart, there’s no shame in struggling.”
Leah’s fingers tightened beneath the blanket.
“Stop calling me sweetheart.”
Simone glanced up from her phone.
Doreen looked toward her for the first time.
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them.
Recognition.
Not friendship.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Leah noticed it instantly.
“You two know each other?” she asked.
Simone looked away.
Doreen smiled.
“I know many people.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Doreen returned her attention to Leah.
“You should rest.”
She reached for the amber bottle.
“I’ll ask the nurse to give you one after dinner.”
“No.”
The word came out harder than Leah intended.
Doreen’s hand stopped.
“I’m not taking it.”
“Leah.”
“No.”
Doreen slowly lowered the bottle.
“All right.”
She sounded too agreeable.
That worried Leah more than an argument would have.
Nathan arrived thirty minutes later carrying coffee.
He kissed Leah’s forehead.
Then he handed his mother the larger cup.
Leah noticed.
Doreen noticed that Leah noticed.
Nathan did not.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Like everyone keeps deciding how I feel before asking me.”
Nathan sighed.
“Can we not start?”
“I haven’t started anything.”
Doreen sat in the chair beside the bed.
“She’s overstimulated.”
Leah looked at her husband.
“Tell your mother to stop diagnosing me.”
Nathan set his coffee down.
“She’s worried.”
“She brought me sedatives.”
“They’re not sedatives.”
Leah turned toward him.
“You already knew?”
Nathan hesitated.
It lasted less than a second.
But Leah saw it.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Why?”
“Because you’ve barely slept.”
“I slept seven hours last night.”
“You woke up at three.”
“And went back to bed.”
Nathan glanced toward his mother.
That small movement told Leah more than his words.
Doreen was directing the conversation without speaking.
Leah looked between them.
“What is going on?”
“Nothing is going on,” Nathan said.
“Then stop acting like I’m unstable.”
“No one said unstable.”
“You’re treating me like I am.”
Doreen rose.
“I think we should let her rest.”
Leah laughed.
“Of course you do.”
Nathan’s jaw tightened.
“Leah.”
“What?”
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
“For who?”
No one answered.
Simone quietly put her phone down.
Doreen picked up her handbag.
Before leaving, she touched Nathan’s arm.
“Come downstairs with me.”
Nathan nodded.
Leah watched them leave together.
The moment the door closed, Simone said, “Do not take anything from that bottle.”
Leah turned toward her.
“You know Doreen.”
Simone’s face had gone pale.
“I know what she does.”
“What does she do?”
Simone pushed herself upright.
“First, tell me something.”
Leah waited.
“Did you choose Dr. Rusk?”
“No.”
“Did you choose this hospital?”
“No.”
“Did you choose the admitting date?”
Leah’s mouth went dry.
“No.”
Simone nodded slowly.
“Then start paying attention.”
“To what?”
“To everything you didn’t choose.”
Leah looked toward the doorway.
Nathan and Doreen were gone.
“What are you saying?”
Simone lowered her voice.
“Three years ago, my cousin delivered here.”
Leah waited.
“She went home without her daughter.”
A cold sensation moved down Leah’s spine.
“Why?”
“Because someone wrote that she was a danger to herself and the baby.”
“Was she?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Her husband’s family took temporary custody.”
Simone swallowed.
“Temporary turned into eleven months.”
Leah stared at her.
“Why didn’t she fight?”
“She did.”
“What happened?”
“Every time she got close to getting her daughter back, another note appeared in her chart.”
Leah felt suddenly nauseated.
Simone continued.
“One said she threatened a nurse.”
“Another said she tried to leave the hospital with the baby against medical advice.”
“Another said she refused medication.”
Leah glanced at the amber bottle.
Her stomach clenched.
Simone followed her eyes.
“Exactly.”
Leah’s voice became barely audible.
“Who was her doctor?”
Simone looked toward the hallway.
Then back at Leah.
“Celia Rusk.”
Leah stopped breathing for a second.
“What happened to your cousin?”
“She eventually got her daughter back.”
“How?”
“Someone inside the hospital helped her.”
“Who?”
Simone shook her head.
“She never told me.”
Before Leah could ask another question, a nurse entered.
She was middle-aged, compact, with short brown hair and a name badge clipped neatly to her navy scrubs.
MAE ROWLAND.
She checked Leah’s monitor.
Then she looked at the amber bottle.
Her expression changed.
“Who brought this?”
Leah pointed toward the doorway.
“My mother-in-law.”
Mae picked it up.
She read the label.
Then she looked at Leah.
“Did your doctor discuss this with you?”
“No.”
Mae placed the bottle in her pocket.
“I’m removing it from the room.”
Leah watched her carefully.
“Why?”
“Because it wasn’t dispensed by our pharmacy.”
Simone sat very still.
Mae looked at her.
Their eyes met.
Again, Leah saw recognition.
This time, stronger.
“You know Simone too,” Leah said.
Mae’s face became unreadable.
“I know many patients.”
“That is almost exactly what Doreen said.”
Mae glanced toward the door.
Then she lowered the rail of Leah’s bed and pretended to check the IV.
“You should be careful repeating names in this room.”
Leah’s heart began beating faster.
“Why?”
Mae did not look at her.
“Because not everyone who enters is here to care for you.”
Then she straightened.
“I’ll be back before shift change.”
She walked out.
Leah stared after her.
Simone whispered, “That’s her.”
Leah turned.
“What?”
“The nurse who helped my cousin.”
Leah’s skin prickled.
“How do you know?”
“She described her.”
Simone pointed toward the door.
“Short hair.”
“Blue scrubs.”
“Small scar near her left eyebrow.”
Leah remembered seeing it.
“What did Mae do?”
“She found the original chart.”
“The one before the notes were changed.”
Leah looked down at her hands.
A minute ago, she had felt trapped in a strange hospital.
Now she felt watched.
Nathan returned at six.
Doreen did not come with him.
He seemed calmer.
Too calm.
He sat beside Leah’s bed.
“I’m sorry about earlier.”
Leah looked at him.
“For what?”
“For not listening.”
She studied his face.
“Okay.”
He reached for her hand.
She let him take it.
“Mom gets intense.”
“That’s one word.”
Nathan smiled faintly.
“I told her to back off.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
Leah wanted to believe him.
That was the painful part.
She had loved him for seven years.
She knew the way he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles when he was nervous.
She knew the slight crease beside his mouth when he lied about small things.
She knew the way he avoided eye contact when his mother had already made a decision he did not want to defend.
Right now, his thumb was moving across her knuckles.
And he was staring at the floor.
“What did she want downstairs?” Leah asked.
Nathan looked up.
“Nothing.”
The crease appeared beside his mouth.
Leah felt something inside her sink.
“What nothing?”
“She wanted to talk about after the delivery.”
“What about it?”
“Helping.”
“With what?”
“The baby.”
Leah pulled her hand away.
“We don’t need your mother taking over.”
“No one said taking over.”
“What did she say?”
Nathan exhaled.
“She thinks you might need support for a few weeks.”
“I’ll have you.”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Leah stared at him.
“I’ll have you, right?”
“Of course.”
“Then why do I need her?”
“Because I’m going back to work.”
“When?”
Nathan rubbed his jaw.
“Probably sooner than we thought.”
Leah felt disbelief rise through her.
“You told me you had three weeks.”
“I did.”
“You promised me.”
“I know.”
“The baby isn’t even here yet.”
“My team is understaffed.”
“You run the team.”
Nathan looked irritated.
“Exactly.”
Leah turned away.
A few minutes later, he kissed her forehead and left to get dinner.
At eight thirty, another nurse brought a clipboard.
“I need your signature here and here.”
Leah looked down.
The first page concerned emergency treatment.
The second page was titled PERINATAL BEHAVIORAL WELLNESS CONSENT.
Leah stopped.
“What is this?”
“Standard screening.”
The nurse smiled.
“Everyone signs.”
Leah read more closely.
The form authorized behavioral observation, psychiatric consultation, family interviews, temporary protective intervention, and emergency restriction if clinicians believed an infant could be at risk.
Leah’s pulse accelerated.
“I’m not signing this.”
The nurse’s smile faded.
“It’s standard.”
“I said no.”
“You may delay discharge.”
“I’m not leaving tonight.”
“It can also affect nursery access.”
Leah looked up sharply.
“What does that mean?”
Before the nurse could answer, Mae appeared in the doorway.
“She said no.”
The younger nurse looked uncomfortable.
“Dr. Rusk ordered it.”
“Then Dr. Rusk can discuss it with the patient herself.”
“She asked me to obtain consent.”
“And consent was denied.”
Mae took the clipboard.
The nurse left without another word.
Leah stared at Mae.
“Is that how they do it?”
Mae looked at Simone.
Simone turned toward the window.
Mae closed the door.
Then she walked to Leah’s bed.
“They don’t need that form to evaluate you.”
Leah felt her mouth go dry.
“Then why do they want it?”
“Because signed paperwork makes later decisions easier to defend.”
“Later decisions like what?”
Mae’s eyes were tired.
“Mrs. Carver has already asked whether this hospital has a secure postpartum psychiatric unit.”
Leah stopped moving.
“She asked that about me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Mae glanced toward the hall.
“I don’t know yet.”
Leah swallowed.
“Mae.”
The nurse looked at her.
“Am I in danger?”
Mae hesitated.
That hesitation was enough.
Leah pressed both hands over her stomach.
The baby moved.
A strong kick.
Mae looked down.
Then she quietly said, “From now on, do not eat or drink anything brought by your family unless you see hospital staff open it.”
Leah’s face went cold.
“Why would you say that?”
Mae did not answer.
Instead, she walked to the door.
Before stepping out, she turned back.
“And if anyone asks whether you have thoughts about hurting yourself or your baby, answer clearly.”
“I don’t.”
“I know.”
Mae opened the door.
“But someone seems very interested in making it look like you do.”
That night, Leah barely slept.
At 2:13 a.m., she woke to voices in the hall.
She recognized Doreen first.
Then Dr. Rusk.
Leah slid quietly from the bed.
Simone was asleep.
Leah moved closer to the partially open door.
Doreen spoke softly.
“We cannot wait until after delivery.”
Dr. Rusk replied, “There has to be a documented basis.”
“You have enough.”
“She refused medication.”
“She refused the wellness consent.”
“That helps, but it isn’t enough for an emergency hold.”
Doreen’s voice hardened.
“Then create enough.”
Leah stopped breathing.
Dr. Rusk whispered something Leah could not hear.
Then Doreen said one sentence clearly.
“Nathan already gave you the recordings.”
Leah’s hand flew to her mouth.
Recordings.
Of what?
Behind her, Simone’s voice suddenly whispered from the darkness.
“Leah.”
Leah turned.
Simone was sitting upright in bed.
Her face had gone white.
“What?”
Simone pointed toward Leah’s bedside table.
At her phone.
The screen was glowing.
A small green dot burned near the top.
The microphone indicator.
May you like
Someone was listening.
And Leah had no idea how long they had been doing it.
