Chapter 2 - THE RECORDINGS
Leah stared at the glowing green dot on her phone.
For several seconds, her mind refused to process what she was seeing.
The microphone indicator should not have been active.
She had not opened a recording app.
She had not made a call.
She had not used voice search.
Simone threw back her blanket and crossed the room.
“Give it to me.”
Leah handed her the phone.
Simone swiped through the open applications.
Nothing obvious appeared.
Then she opened the settings.
“Do you know your password?”
“Yes.”
“Change it.”
“Why?”
“Because if Nathan has access to your account, changing the device passcode isn’t enough.”
Leah felt sick.
She entered her account settings.
Two devices were listed.
Her phone.
And a tablet.
Leah stared at the second device.
She did not own a tablet.
“When did that get added?”
“I don’t know.”
Simone opened the device details.
The tablet had signed in eight months earlier.
Leah’s throat tightened.
Eight months.
Almost exactly when she became pregnant.
“Can you see where it is?”
“Not precisely.”
Simone looked at her.
“But whoever has it may have access to your messages, notes, cloud recordings, backups, and anything synchronized.”
Leah thought about every private conversation she had ever had with Nathan.
Every anxious text.
Every late-night search about pregnancy complications.
Every note she had written after fighting with Doreen.
Her hands began to shake.
Simone noticed.
“Don’t panic.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“Good.”
“I’m furious.”
“That’s better.”
Leah disconnected the tablet.
Then she changed every password she could remember.
At 2:30 in the morning, Mae returned.
Leah told her what they had found.
Mae’s expression hardened.
“Do not confront Nathan yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because we still don’t know what they’re trying to prove.”
“They’re trying to prove I’m crazy.”
“That isn’t a medical term.”
“You know what I mean.”
Mae pulled the visitor chair closer.
“Listen carefully.”
Leah did.
“If someone is building a behavioral case against you, emotional reactions can be described in whatever language benefits them.”
“What kind of language?”
“Agitated.”
“Paranoid.”
“Hostile.”
“Uncooperative.”
“Fixated.”
Leah stared at her.
“So I’m supposed to sit here smiling while they plan to take my child?”
“No.”
Mae leaned forward.
“You are supposed to be precise.”
Leah swallowed.
“What do I do?”
“Ask questions.”
“Request names.”
“Request copies.”
“Write down times.”
“Do not sign anything you haven’t read.”
“Do not let anyone isolate you without asking why.”
“And most importantly, do not threaten anyone.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I know.”
Mae held her gaze.
“But if you tell Doreen you’ll kill her before you let her take your baby, she won’t remember the context.”
“She’ll remember the sentence.”
Leah understood.
It terrified her that she understood.
Simone returned to her bed.
Mae lowered her voice further.
“I checked the medication bottle.”
“What was in it?”
“Lorazepam.”
Leah’s eyes widened.
“Doreen said it was mild.”
“It is a legitimate medication when prescribed appropriately.”
“Was it prescribed to me?”
“Not through this hospital.”
“Then where did it come from?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Could it hurt the baby?”
Mae shook her head.
“I’m not going to speculate.”
“But it could make me sleepy.”
“Yes.”
“Confused?”
“Possibly.”
“Unsteady?”
“Yes.”
Leah’s mouth went dry.
“A perfect patient to describe as impaired.”
Mae said nothing.
That silence gave Leah her answer.
At seven that morning, Nathan returned carrying breakfast.
He smiled as though nothing had happened.
“Morning.”
Leah looked at the coffee in his hand.
“I don’t want that.”
Nathan stopped.
“You always drink coffee.”
“Not today.”
He set it down.
“How did you sleep?”
“Badly.”
His face shifted.
“Because of anxiety?”
There it was.
The word.
The category.
Leah kept her voice calm.
“Because people were talking outside my room.”
“What people?”
“Your mother.”
Nathan’s hand stopped near the coffee cup.
“And Dr. Rusk.”
He looked at Leah.
“What did they say?”
“You tell me.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“I wasn’t there.”
“Where were you?”
“At home.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
Leah glanced at Simone.
Simone pretended to sleep.
Nathan pulled the chair closer.
“What’s going on?”
Leah looked directly at him.
“Why is there a tablet connected to my account?”
His face changed.
It happened quickly.
But she saw it.
“I don’t know.”
“I removed it.”
“Okay.”
“You knew about it.”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
Nathan’s jaw tightened.
“Leah.”
“Did you record me?”
His eyes shifted toward the door.
That was enough.
Leah felt her heart crack with astonishing quiet.
“What did you record?”
Nathan stood.
“Keep your voice down.”
“I am keeping my voice down.”
“You’re accusing me of spying on you.”
“I asked what you recorded.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
The same gesture he had used in the nursery.
“Mom was worried.”
Leah stared at him.
“What did you record?”
“She wanted examples.”
“Examples of what?”
“Your moods.”
“My moods?”
“You’ve been different.”
“I’m nine months pregnant.”
“You’ve been emotional.”
“Pregnant.”
“Suspicious.”
“Of your mother.”
“Exactly.”
Leah almost laughed.
“You recorded me being suspicious of the woman currently trying to use those recordings to prove I’m unstable.”
Nathan looked away.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Then explain how it was.”
“She said Dr. Rusk needed context.”
“For a medical evaluation I never requested?”
Nathan sat again.
“Leah, you’ve been struggling.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Nathan.”
“You woke me up crying.”
“Once.”
“You said you dreamed the baby died.”
“That was a nightmare.”
“You kept checking the locks.”
“Because your mother has a key to our apartment.”
“You moved the crib twice.”
“Because the air vent blows directly on it.”
“You accused Mom of trying to control the nursery.”
“She chose the furniture without asking.”
Nathan’s voice sharpened.
“You see what I mean?”
Leah went still.
He heard himself.
For one second, guilt crossed his face.
Then he looked away.
Leah whispered, “You turned normal arguments into symptoms.”
“No one is saying they’re symptoms.”
“You just listed them like a doctor.”
Nathan stood again.
“I’m not doing this.”
“Did you give Dr. Rusk recordings?”
He did not answer.
“Nathan.”
Silence.
Leah felt tears rise.
She refused to let them fall.
“Did you give her recordings of me?”
“Yes.”
The word was almost inaudible.
Leah looked down at her hands.
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many?”
“Maybe six.”
“Six recordings.”
Nathan rubbed his neck.
“They were short.”
“That makes it better?”
“No.”
“What was on them?”
“Arguments.”
“With who?”
“Me.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
Nathan hesitated.
Leah’s voice became colder.
“What else?”
“One night you were talking in your sleep.”
Leah stared at him.
“You recorded me sleeping?”
“I woke up and you were saying something about water.”
The dream.
The river.
The baby falling.
Nathan had recorded it.
Her stomach turned.
“And you gave that to a doctor?”
“I thought it showed how scared you were.”
“No.”
“It showed how terrified I was in a dream.”
Leah’s eyes filled.
“You gave them my nightmares.”
Nathan took one step toward her.
“Leah.”
“Don’t touch me.”
He stopped.
Mae entered at that moment.
She looked from Leah to Nathan.
“Everything all right?”
Nathan answered first.
“She’s upset.”
Leah looked at Mae.
“My husband just admitted he secretly recorded me for months and gave the recordings to my doctor.”
Mae’s face became very still.
Nathan frowned.
“That is not what I said.”
“It is exactly what you said.”
Mae looked at him.
“Mr. Carver, I need you to step outside.”
“This is my wife.”
“And she is my patient.”
“I’m staying.”
Mae did not raise her voice.
“She has requested that you not touch her.”
“She didn’t ask me to leave.”
Leah looked at Nathan.
“Leave.”
His face hardened.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Leah, don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make a scene.”
The phrase struck her like a slap.
Mae’s eyes changed.
Leah heard Doreen in those words.
She wondered how many times Nathan had learned to say them.
“Get out,” Leah said.
Nathan stared at her for several seconds.
Then he walked into the hallway.
Mae closed the door behind him.
Leah finally began crying.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just tears sliding down her cheeks while she stared at the blanket.
Mae handed her tissues.
“I need those recordings,” Leah said.
Mae nodded.
“So do I.”
“Can they use them?”
“They can submit almost anything to a clinician.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“Context matters.”
“What if they edit the context?”
Mae’s silence frightened her.
Simone opened her eyes.
“They will.”
Leah looked at her.
Simone sat up.
“My cousin’s husband recorded her too.”
Mae’s head turned.
“You never told me that.”
“I didn’t know until afterward.”
Simone looked at Leah.
“He would start fights.”
“Then record only the part where she shouted.”
Leah’s stomach dropped.
Nathan had done that.
Not always.
But enough times.
He had asked questions that seemed strangely repetitive.
Why are you so angry?
Why do you hate my mother?
Why are you afraid she’ll take the baby?
Leah had answered without understanding why he kept asking.
Now she knew.
At ten that morning, Dr. Rusk entered with a psychiatric consultant.
The consultant introduced herself as Dr. Helen Barrett.
She appeared to be in her late forties, with calm brown eyes and a plain gray suit beneath her white coat.
“I’m here because Dr. Rusk requested a prenatal mental-health assessment,” she said.
Leah looked at Dr. Rusk.
“I didn’t consent to that.”
Dr. Barrett answered.
“You don’t have to participate.”
Dr. Rusk’s smile tightened.
“Given the concerns raised by family, I thought it would be responsible.”
Leah folded her hands.
“What concerns?”
Dr. Rusk opened a folder.
“Persistent anxiety.”
“Insomnia.”
“Paranoid ideation involving family members.”
“Preoccupation with infant death.”
“Emotional volatility.”
Leah stared at her.
Every line had been built from something normal.
Twisted slightly.
Sharpened.
Removed from context.
“Who reported those things?”
“Your husband.”
Leah looked at Dr. Barrett.
“My husband secretly recorded me.”
Dr. Barrett’s eyebrows rose.
“Without your knowledge?”
“Yes.”
Dr. Rusk interrupted.
“That is a marital matter.”
“No,” Leah said.
“It is relevant because some of those recordings were made after he deliberately provoked arguments.”
Dr. Barrett looked at Rusk.
“May I speak with Ms. Carver alone?”
Rusk hesitated.
Then she left.
The door closed.
Dr. Barrett sat.
“Do you believe someone is trying to harm you?”
Leah thought carefully before answering.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“My mother-in-law.”
“Why?”
“Because I overheard her telling my doctor to create documentation that would support intervention.”
Dr. Barrett watched her.
“That is a serious allegation.”
“I know.”
“Do you have evidence?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you believe your husband is involved?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He admitted giving them recordings.”
Dr. Barrett made notes.
Leah watched every movement of her pen.
“Do you have thoughts of harming yourself?”
“No.”
“Have you ever?”
“No.”
“Thoughts of harming the baby?”
“No.”
“Do you fear you might?”
“No.”
“Do you hear voices other people cannot hear?”
“No.”
“See things other people do not see?”
“No.”
“Do you believe the hospital is conspiring against you?”
Leah paused.
“That question is too broad.”
Dr. Barrett looked up.
Leah continued.
“I believe specific people may be manipulating my medical record.”
“That is different.”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand why someone might describe that as paranoia?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a reason beyond suspicion?”
Leah told her about the bottle.
The unauthorized medication.
The connected tablet.
The recordings.
The conversation in the hallway.
Dr. Barrett listened.
When Leah finished, the psychiatrist closed her notebook.
“I am not recommending a hold.”
Leah nearly cried from relief.
“Can you put that in writing?”
“Yes.”
Leah exhaled.
Then Dr. Barrett added, “But I want to review the recordings.”
Leah’s relief disappeared.
“Why?”
“Because they were part of the referral.”
Leah nodded slowly.
“Fine.”
Dr. Barrett stood.
“I will document that you are oriented, coherent, aware of your medical condition, and denying thoughts of harm.”
“Please also document that I requested my husband not be involved in behavioral discussions.”
“I can do that.”
At the door, Dr. Barrett stopped.
“One more question.”
“Yes?”
“Did you sign a document yesterday requesting Doreen Carver serve as emergency medical proxy?”
Leah froze.
“No.”
Dr. Barrett studied her face.
“You’re certain?”
“Absolutely.”
The psychiatrist looked troubled.
“There is one in your chart.”
Leah’s entire body went cold.
“With my signature?”
“Yes.”
“I never signed it.”
Dr. Barrett left.
Mae immediately entered.
She had been waiting outside.
Leah looked at her.
“Someone forged my signature.”
Mae closed the door.
“I heard.”
“How bad is that?”
“Bad.”
Leah touched her stomach.
The baby kicked.
Mae looked down at the movement.
“Get me a copy of everything in my chart.”
“I’ll try.”
“No.”
Leah lifted her eyes.
“Don’t try.”
“Get it.”
Mae nodded.
At noon, Nathan sent Leah a text.
I love you.
She stared at it.
A second message arrived.
I know you’re scared.
A third.
Please stop fighting everyone who’s trying to help.
Leah took screenshots.
Then she typed one sentence.
Do you believe I am mentally incapable of caring for our son?
Nathan did not answer for eleven minutes.
Then three dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Finally, his reply arrived.
I believe you need help.
Leah stared at those five words.
Mae returned twenty minutes later with a thick envelope.
“I printed what I could.”
Leah opened it.
She found medication records.
Nursing notes.
Prenatal assessments.
Behavioral referrals.
Then she reached a page dated four days earlier.
Her stomach turned.
Patient reportedly stated infant would be safer “with me alone” and expressed distrust of spouse and extended family.
Leah had said something similar during an argument with Nathan.
But the rest was missing.
She had said, If your mother keeps undermining every decision I make, maybe the baby and I would be safer with me alone for a while.
The note made it sound like a threat.
Another page described “recurrent dreams of infant drowning.”
Another described “obsessive checking behaviors.”
Another described her refusal to take medication.
Leah looked at Mae.
“This was created before I was admitted.”
Mae nodded grimly.
Then Leah reached the proxy form.
Her name appeared at the bottom.
LEAH MARIE CARVER.
The signature looked almost perfect.
Almost.
Leah knew exactly what was wrong.
“I don’t make my L like that.”
Mae leaned closer.
Leah pointed.
“My father taught me to sign my name when I was twelve.”
“I always loop the L back underneath.”
“This doesn’t.”
Mae stared at the page.
“That matters.”
Leah flipped to the witness section.
Her breath stopped.
The witness signature belonged to Nathan.
She stared at it for so long that the letters began to blur.
He had witnessed a signature she never made.
Mae whispered, “Leah.”
Leah turned the page.
Behind the proxy form was another document.
A petition draft.
It had not yet been filed.
PETITION FOR EMERGENCY FAMILY PLACEMENT OF NEWBORN CHILD.
The proposed petitioner was Doreen Carver.
The supporting spouse was Nathan Carver.
And beneath the legal language was the sentence that finally made Leah understand.
In the event the mother is deemed temporarily incapacitated following delivery, the newborn shall be discharged to paternal family care.
Leah looked up at Mae.
“They planned this before I came here.”
Mae did not disagree.
A crash sounded from Simone’s side of the room.
Both women turned.
Simone was standing beside her bed.
Her water glass lay shattered on the floor.
She was staring at the petition.
And her face had gone completely white.
“I’ve seen that form before,” she whispered.
Leah looked at her.
“Where?”
Simone put one hand over her stomach.
“My cousin’s file.”
May you like
Then she said the words that changed everything.
“Except Doreen Carver’s name was on hers too.”
