Chapter 4
Marcus stared at the phone.
Then at me.
“Nia, I never agreed to that.”
I wanted to believe him.
But fear had settled so deeply inside me that even his denial hurt.
Rebecca spoke again.
“Mr. Carter, I can only tell you what your mother reported.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“She lied.”
I looked at him.
“Are you sure?”
His expression changed.
“Baby, of course.”
I swallowed.
“Because she seemed very confident.”
Marcus sat beside me.
“I know.”
Rebecca explained that she had documented Evelyn's contacts according to her office procedures.
She encouraged us to speak with our attorney about any records that might be relevant.
We thanked her.
Then the call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Marcus took my hand.
“Nia, please look at me.”
I raised my eyes.
“I would never give our daughter away.”
My throat tightened.
“Then why would your mother say you agreed?”
He looked miserable.
“Because she's been using my name to control people for years.”
I stared at him.
He continued.
“She tells relatives I agree with her even when we haven't discussed something.”
I felt sick.
“Has she done that with me?”
Marcus hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
He looked down.
“When we got married, she told my aunt you didn't want a family gathering.”
I stared at him.
“I wanted everyone there.”
“I know.”
“She told your relatives I was embarrassed by them?”
Marcus nodded slowly.
I covered my mouth.
That explained so much.
The cold looks.
The awkward conversations.
The relatives who stopped inviting me to family dinners.
I had spent years thinking they disliked me.
Now I wondered whether Evelyn had been controlling their relationships with me through lies.
Marcus continued.
“She also told me you complained about my sister's children.”
My eyes widened.
“I never did that.”
“I know now.”
I stared at him.
“Marcus, why didn't you ask me?”
He closed his eyes.
“Because I trusted Mom.”
The words hurt.
Not because they were cruel.
Because they were honest.
I pulled my hand away.
He looked devastated.
“Nia…”
I took a breath.
“I need space.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
I stood carefully.
My hip still ached.
Marcus immediately moved to help.
I raised my hand.
“I can walk.”
He stepped back.
I went upstairs to Jasmine's guest room.
Then I sat on the bed and cried.
I loved my husband.
But love wasn't enough if I couldn't trust him to question his mother's lies.
For two years, I had been fighting a battle I didn't know existed.
Evelyn wasn't merely criticizing me.
She was shaping the stories people believed about me.
And now she was trying to do the same thing with our unborn daughter.
That evening, Jasmine sat beside me.
She brought tea and a plate of toast.
I hadn't eaten much.
“Nia, you need something in your stomach.”
I nodded.
She waited while I took a few bites.
Then she asked, “What are you thinking?”
I stared at the blanket.
“I don't know if I can trust Marcus.”
Jasmine nodded.
“That's understandable.”
“He says he didn't agree to give Evelyn the baby.”
“Do you believe him?”
I hesitated.
“I want to.”
She took my hand.
“Wanting to believe someone and having enough evidence to trust them are different things.”
I nodded.
I thought about the years Marcus defended Evelyn.
The times he told me to apologize.
The times he insisted his mother meant well.
Had he been weak?
Manipulated?
Or was he hiding something too?
The uncertainty frightened me.
Jasmine looked at me.
“You don't have to decide everything tonight.”
I exhaled.
“Thank you.”
The next morning, Marcus asked whether we could speak.
I agreed.
We sat at Jasmine's kitchen table.
He looked exhausted.
“I called my aunt Lorraine.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know what Mom has been telling the family.”
My stomach tightened.
“And?”
Marcus swallowed.
“She told people you were planning to move away with the baby.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“She said you wanted to cut me off from my relatives.”
I shook my head.
“That isn't true.”
“I know.”
He looked down.
“She also told Aunt Lorraine you had threatened her.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“Months ago.”
I almost laughed.
“Marcus, I barely raised my voice around your mother.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
I stared at him.
“Then why didn't you see what she was doing?”
His eyes filled.
“Because I didn't want to believe my mother could behave that way.”
I took a breath.
“And now?”
He looked directly at me.
“Now I believe you.”
The words mattered.
But they were late.
I looked down.
“Marcus, I need you to understand how much this has hurt.”
He nodded.
“I do.”
“No.”
My voice trembled.
“I don't think you do yet.”
He remained silent.
I continued.
“Every time Evelyn insulted me, I waited for you to defend me.”
His eyes filled.
“Every time she questioned my marriage, I waited for you to tell her to stop.”
A tear slid down my cheek.
“And every time you asked me to be patient, I felt more alone.”
Marcus covered his face.
“I failed you.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
He began crying.
I didn't rush to comfort him.
Not because I wanted to punish him.
Because I needed him to understand that my pain couldn't disappear simply because he finally acknowledged it.
After a while, he looked up.
“I want to fix this.”
I took a breath.
“Then start by respecting what I need.”
“Anything.”
“I need you to stop communicating with Evelyn about me or the baby.”
He nodded.
“I can do that.”
“I need you to support the legal process.”
“Yes.”
“And I need counseling before I can feel safe returning to our old life.”
He swallowed.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
For the first time, he didn't argue.
That afternoon, we met with attorney Patricia Howard.
She listened to everything.
The assault.
The messages.
The counselor's phone call.
The claims about custody.
The family's history of misinformation.
Patricia reviewed our options.
She explained that Evelyn had no automatic right to take our child simply because she was the grandmother.
She also recommended preserving relevant communications, documenting the assault, and considering protective measures.
I felt relieved.
Then Patricia asked an unexpected question.
“Does Evelyn have access to your medical information?”
I frowned.
“I don't think so.”
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
Patricia noticed.
“Mr. Carter?”
He swallowed.
“Mom used to be listed as my emergency contact.”
I nodded slowly.
“That doesn't give her access to my records.”
“No,” Patricia agreed. “But we should still verify your hospital privacy preferences and authorized contacts.”
I took a breath.
We contacted the hospital.
My records were secure.
But the receptionist mentioned something concerning.
Evelyn had called twice asking about my due date and delivery arrangements.
The hospital had not released information.
Still, my stomach tightened.
She was trying to learn when our daughter would arrive.
We updated our privacy instructions.
Then Patricia helped us organize a safety plan for the delivery.
By evening, I felt a little stronger.
Not completely safe.
But less helpless.
Then my phone rang.
Another unfamiliar number.
I answered.
A woman spoke.
“Nia Carter?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Lorraine Williams.”
I recognized the name.
Marcus's aunt.
His mother's younger sister.
I sat upright.
“Hello.”
Lorraine hesitated.
“I think we need to talk about Evelyn.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about her?”
Lorraine took a shaky breath.
“She tried something similar years ago.”
I froze.
“With whom?”
There was a long silence.
Then Lorraine whispered, “With Marcus himself.”
May you like
I stared at the phone.
Because suddenly, I realized Evelyn's obsession with controlling children might have started long before I entered the family.
