Chapter 6
I spent the following morning in Camille's conference room.
Andre sat beside me.
David Ellis had joined us by video.
Samuel Whitaker was there too.
For the first time, everyone helping me understood how the documents connected.
The divorce petition.
The proposed custody arrangement.
The false medical statement.
The loan application.
The attempted authorization involving my daughter's future trust benefits.
And Valerie Bennett's signature.
I looked around the table.
"Please tell me there's a way to stop this."
Camille nodded.
"We've already notified the trust company. They've confirmed that no such assignment was authorized."
I exhaled.
"Good."
David continued.
"The lender has suspended consideration of the application pending its review."
Relief washed through me.
Then he added, "The lender is also investigating the authenticity of the documents submitted."
I nodded.
Samuel leaned forward.
"The trust's restrictions are working as intended."
My eyes filled.
"Grandma protected us."
He smiled gently.
"She certainly tried."
I placed one hand over my belly.
My daughter moved.
For the first time in days, I felt a little safer.
Then Camille opened another folder.
"There's something we need to discuss."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"The false medical statement."
I swallowed.
"Did you find the doctor?"
"Yes."
I leaned forward.
"And?"
"Dr. Evelyn Price confirmed that she never evaluated you."
My mouth fell open.
"Then why is her name on the document?"
Camille's expression hardened.
"That's under investigation."
I stared at her.
"Does she know who created it?"
"She reported that her professional letterhead appears to have been used without authorization."
I covered my mouth.
For months, Marcus had been telling people I was unstable.
Now someone had apparently gone far enough to create a false medical document.
Camille continued.
"We're preserving the evidence and coordinating with the appropriate authorities."
I nodded.
Then Andre spoke.
"How does anyone think this is acceptable?"
His voice shook with anger.
I reached for his hand.
"Andre."
He looked at me.
Then took a breath.
"I'm sorry."
I smiled sadly.
"I know."
He squeezed my fingers.
"Nobody gets to hurt you or that baby."
Camille looked toward me.
"Nia, I also want to discuss your delivery plan."
I frowned.
"My delivery plan?"
"Yes."
She explained that I should decide who I wanted supporting me during labor and discuss appropriate hospital procedures with my medical team.
I swallowed.
"Marcus is still the father."
"Yes."
She nodded.
"But you can communicate your preferences and concerns to the hospital. Medical decisions and access during delivery involve important rights and practical considerations."
I stared at the table.
For months, I'd imagined Marcus holding my hand.
Now I didn't know whether I could bear having him in the room.
Andre squeezed my hand.
"You can ask Mom to come."
I nodded slowly.
Our mother, Evelyn, had been staying nearby to help during the final weeks of pregnancy.
She had already offered.
But I'd been afraid that accepting her help meant admitting my marriage was over.
Now I understood that it meant choosing support.
"I want Mom with me."
Andre smiled.
"Then that's what we'll plan."
Two days later, Tessa contacted Camille.
She had decided to provide the documents she'd discovered.
The records included emails between Marcus and Valerie.
Some discussed the divorce.
Others discussed my pregnancy.
One message made my stomach turn.
Valerie had written:
The child will be better off with us. Nia is too attached to that inheritance to make reasonable decisions.
I stared at the screen.
Too attached.
As though protecting my grandmother's legacy were a character flaw.
Another email was worse.
Marcus wrote:
If Nia refuses to cooperate, we need enough documentation to show she's not thinking clearly.
I began shaking.
Camille placed a hand near mine.
"Nia, breathe."
I looked at her.
"He planned to make me look unfit."
She nodded.
"The communications are concerning."
I swallowed.
Then looked at the next message.
Valerie responded:
The doctor letter should help. Keep her emotional. Don't tell her what we're preparing until the petition is filed.
My body went cold.
Keep her emotional.
Everything suddenly made sense.
The cruel comments.
The sudden arguments.
Marcus telling me I was unstable whenever I cried.
His insistence that I was too sensitive.
He hadn't simply been dismissing my feelings.
He had been trying to turn those feelings into evidence.
I stared at Camille.
"How can someone do that to the mother of his child?"
She didn't pretend to know.
Instead, she said, "What matters now is that we have records that can be examined."
I nodded.
But the emotional damage remained.
That evening, Mom came over.
She found me sitting in the nursery.
The rocking chair moved gently beneath me.
I was holding the photograph of Grandma Ruth.
Mom sat beside me.
"Sweetheart?"
I looked up.
"I'm scared."
She took my hand.
"Of childbirth?"
I shook my head.
"Of everything afterward."
My voice cracked.
"What if Marcus keeps trying to take her?"
Mom's eyes filled.
She squeezed my fingers.
"Then we'll follow the legal process and keep protecting both of you."
I stared toward the crib.
"What if I'm not strong enough?"
Mom smiled sadly.
"Nia, strength doesn't mean never being afraid."
I looked at her.
"It means asking for help when you need it and continuing to protect what matters."
I began crying.
She pulled me into her arms.
For a long time, I cried against her shoulder.
Then she whispered, "Your grandmother would be proud of you."
I closed my eyes.
"I miss her."
"I know."
We sat together until my tears stopped.
Then I felt a sudden tightening across my stomach.
I shifted in the chair.
Mom noticed.
"Nia?"
I took a breath.
"I'm okay."
Another tightening followed.
Stronger.
I gripped the armrest.
Mom stood.
"Sweetheart, how long has this been happening?"
I swallowed.
"Since this afternoon."
Her expression changed.
"How often?"
I tried to remember.
Then another wave of discomfort came.
I gasped.
Mom reached for my phone.
"We're calling your doctor."
Within minutes, my obstetrician advised us to come to the hospital for evaluation.
I was only thirty-five weeks pregnant.
Too early.
I looked toward the crib.
My daughter's tiny clothes.
The unopened diaper boxes.
The carefully folded blankets.
I started crying.
"Mom, she's not supposed to come yet."
Mom helped me stand.
"Let's get you checked."
Andre arrived to drive us.
I held my belly the entire way.
At the hospital, nurses began monitoring me.
My doctor examined the situation.
Then gently explained that I was experiencing contractions.
They needed to watch me closely.
I stared at the ceiling.
My phone rang.
Marcus.
I ignored it.
Then another call.
Valerie.
Mom silenced the phone.
I looked at her.
"How do they know?"
She frowned.
"Know what?"
"That I'm here."
Before she could answer, a nurse entered.
Her expression was concerned.
"Mrs. Bennett?"
I looked up.
"Yes?"
"There's a man at the front desk claiming to be your husband."
My heart stopped.
The nurse continued.
"He says he has legal paperwork requiring us to let him take over your medical decisions."
I stared at her.
May you like
Then at Mom.
Because even with our daughter threatening to arrive early, Marcus was still trying to take control.
