Chapter 3
I didn't sleep during the hospital observation.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Evelyn standing over me.
Her raised hand.
Her furious expression.
The terrible certainty in her voice when she said our daughter wouldn't come home.
Marcus sat beside my bed.
He hadn't changed his white shirt.
His sleeves were rolled up.
His eyes were red from exhaustion.
But he refused to leave.
At three in the morning, I whispered, “Marcus?”
He immediately looked up.
“Baby?”
“Do you think your mother really contacted an adoption agency?”
He hesitated.
“I don't know.”
I stared at him.
“Do you believe the messages?”
“I believe we need to find out who sent them.”
I nodded.
He leaned closer.
“But nobody is taking our daughter.”
My eyes filled.
“I know you want to protect us.”
“I do.”
“Then I need more than promises.”
He nodded slowly.
“Tell me what you need.”
I took a breath.
“Honesty.”
He looked at me.
“Always.”
“And boundaries.”
“Yes.”
“And I need you to stop treating your mother's feelings like they're more important than my safety.”
His expression crumpled.
He looked down.
“You're right.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered, “I didn't realize how much I was hurting you.”
I squeezed his hand.
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“I'm going to change that.”
I wanted to believe him.
But I was frightened.
Not only of Evelyn.
Of what might happen if Marcus eventually grew tired of standing against her.
At sunrise, Dr. Brooks returned.
The monitoring remained reassuring.
There were no signs of an immediate pregnancy complication.
My hip was bruised, and my cheek was tender.
The doctor explained the warning signs that would require urgent medical attention after discharge.
She also made it clear that I should return immediately if I experienced bleeding, abdominal pain, contractions, fluid leakage, or reduced fetal movement.
I listened carefully.
Marcus wrote everything down.
When we were discharged, I felt relieved.
But not peaceful.
Our baby was safe for now.
The threat surrounding her still felt frighteningly real.
Before leaving the hospital, we met with a social worker.
Her name was Denise Walker.
She explained our options for documenting the assault, accessing support, and creating a safety plan.
She also reassured me that nobody could simply arrange for my baby to be adopted without the required legal processes and parental consent or court authority.
I felt my shoulders relax slightly.
“Even if Evelyn knows people?”
Denise looked directly at me.
“Knowing people doesn't give someone legal authority over your child.”
I exhaled.
For the first time, I felt a little control returning.
Marcus squeezed my hand.
“We're going to handle this properly.”
We agreed to report the assault.
I gave a statement describing what happened.
I didn't exaggerate.
I didn't minimize.
I simply told the truth.
When we returned home, Marcus immediately contacted a locksmith to discuss changing the locks and securing the house.
He also asked the security company to preserve available camera recordings.
Evelyn had a key.
She had always had one.
Marcus gave it to her years before we married.
Whenever I complained about her arriving unexpectedly, he told me she was family.
Now he understood why boundaries mattered.
He stood beside the front door.
“She won't be walking in whenever she wants anymore.”
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
He looked at me.
“I should have done this sooner.”
I didn't disagree.
We walked into the kitchen.
The broken plate had been cleaned up.
But the chair where I sat after falling was still beside the island.
I stopped.
My breathing changed.
Marcus noticed immediately.
“Nia?”
I stared at the floor.
For a moment, I could hear Evelyn's voice again.
You will not disrespect me.
I pressed my hand against my chest.
Marcus stepped closer.
“Do you want to leave?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
He didn't argue.
We gathered essential belongings and went to my older sister Jasmine's house.
Jasmine opened the door wearing a gray sweatshirt and slippers.
The moment she saw my cheek, her expression changed.
“Oh, my God.”
I began crying.
She pulled me into a careful hug.
“Nia.”
I held her tightly.
For the first time since the assault, I let myself fall apart.
Jasmine had practically raised me after our father died.
She was eleven years older.
Strong.
Practical.
And fiercely protective.
When I finally stopped crying, she looked at Marcus.
“What happened?”
He told her.
Everything.
He didn't blame me.
Didn't excuse Evelyn.
Didn't claim it was a misunderstanding.
When he finished, Jasmine stared at him.
“Your mother hit my pregnant sister?”
Marcus nodded.
“Yes.”
Jasmine's jaw tightened.
“And you've been ignoring her behavior for years.”
He lowered his head.
“Yes.”
I watched him carefully.
A few days earlier, Marcus would have defended Evelyn.
Now he was accepting responsibility for his own failures.
It mattered.
But I still needed time.
Jasmine looked toward me.
“You can stay as long as you want.”
I smiled through tears.
“Thank you.”
That afternoon, an unfamiliar number called.
I almost ignored it.
Then I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice spoke.
“Is this Nia Carter?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Dr. Rebecca Hill.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who are you?”
“I'm a licensed family counselor.”
I frowned.
“Okay?”
She hesitated.
“I believe someone has been using my name in conversations about your unborn child.”
I sat upright.
“What?”
“Your mother-in-law contacted me several weeks ago.”
My heart pounded.
“About what?”
“She claimed your pregnancy was causing serious emotional instability.”
I closed my eyes.
Rebecca continued.
“She wanted me to write a letter recommending that another relative care for your baby after delivery.”
My hands began shaking.
“Did you?”
“Absolutely not.”
Relief washed through me.
“I told her I couldn't make any recommendation without evaluating the people involved, obtaining appropriate consent, and following professional standards.”
I took a breath.
“Why are you calling me?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Because yesterday she contacted my office again.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she say?”
“She claimed you had been hospitalized after a violent incident.”
I stared at the wall.
Rebecca continued.
“She wanted to know whether that would strengthen her argument that you were unfit to raise your child.”
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I whispered, “She caused the incident.”
Rebecca went silent.
I swallowed.
“She hit me.”
Her voice softened.
“I'm sorry that happened.”
I looked toward the doorway.
Marcus stood there.
He could tell something was wrong.
I put the phone on speaker.
Rebecca continued.
“I haven't provided her with any letter. I also wanted to make sure you knew someone was making claims about you.”
Marcus's face became pale.
Then Rebecca said something that made my stomach drop.
“Nia, there's one more thing.”
I held my breath.
“She told me your husband had already agreed that his mother should take the baby.”
I slowly turned toward Marcus.
May you like
He looked horrified.
And for one terrible second, I didn't know whether the man standing beside me had been telling me the entire truth.
