Chapter 10: The Charges, the Hearing, and the Last Thing Patricia Said
The charges came down on a Tuesday.
Grace called me while I was walking the hospital corridor — slow laps, doctor's orders, my daughter pressing steadily downward like she was already impatient.
"Patricia Holt," Grace said.
"Charged with unlawful confinement, conspiracy to commit fraud, and conspiracy to facilitate an illegal private adoption.
Daniel Holt — same charges, plus one count related to the livestream and the documented use of a sedative compound without informed consent."
I stopped walking.
"Warren Gill?"
"Cooperating witness.
He'll face separate charges through a different proceeding.
His cooperation is what locked the adoption conspiracy count."
"And Dr.
Marsh?"
"Practicing medicine without a valid license.
The sedative compound adds a second charge.
His attorney is already negotiating."
I stood in the middle of the corridor.
A nurse passed me with a cart.
An orderly said excuse me and I stepped aside.
"Grace," I said.
"Yes."
"Is it enough?"
A pause.
"The DA thinks so.
I think so." Another pause, shorter.
"Yes."
I started walking again.
The hearing was two weeks later.
I was thirty-four weeks by then, and I sat in the gallery with Renata beside me and watched Daniel and Patricia enter from a side door with their attorneys.
Daniel didn't look at me.
Patricia did.
She held my gaze for a long moment from across the room.
Her face was arranged in the expression I recognized — composed, slightly pained, the face of a woman who had been deeply wronged by someone ungrateful.
Then the judge entered and everyone stood and Patricia looked away.
The hearing was procedural.
Charges read.
Pleas entered.
Not guilty, both of them, which Grace had predicted.
A bail condition was set that included no contact with me or the hospital.
It lasted forty minutes.
Afterward, in the hallway, Patricia's attorney stepped away to take a call.
Daniel was being guided toward an exit.
Patricia stood alone for just a moment near a water fountain, and she looked at me across the empty hallway.
"I was trying to protect you," she said.
Her voice was low.
Controlled.
"You were not capable.
You were not ready.
Someone had to make the right decision."
I looked at her.
"You livestreamed me," I said.
"For strangers.
For ten weeks.
While I was pregnant."
"I was documenting your condition—"
"You were humiliating me," I said.
"And you recorded yourself planning to take my daughter.
And four hundred people have screenshots of it." I held her gaze.
"That's your documentation."
Her attorney reappeared at her elbow.
Patricia looked at me one last time.
The composed expression had shifted — not broken exactly, but something underneath it had moved.
"You'll regret this," she said.
"No," I said.
"I won't."
Her attorney steered her toward the exit.
I watched her go.
Renata appeared beside me.
"You okay?"
May you like
"Yes," I said.
And I meant it.
