Chapter 4: What Grace Already Knew
I called from the bathroom.
Water running.
Door locked.
Thirty-two weeks pregnant, sitting on the edge of the tub, whispering into a phone the size of a credit card.
Grace picked up on the second ring.
"Donna told me to expect you," she said.
"Are you somewhere you can talk?"
"For a few minutes."
"That's enough.
I need to ask you some questions and I need you to answer them as plainly as you can.
Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"How long have you been confined to that room?"
"Since week twenty-two."
A short pause.
"That's ten weeks."
"Yes."
"Have you received prenatal care during that time?"
"My mother-in-law has a friend.
He comes once a week.
He's not — I don't think he's a real OB.
He never gives me paperwork.
He doesn't answer questions."
"Does he have a name?"
"They call him Dr.
Marsh."
I heard her writing.
"What is your husband's full name?"
"Daniel Holt."
"And his mother?"
"Patricia Holt."
More writing.
Then: "I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to stay calm when I say it."
My hand tightened on the phone.
"Donna sent me the audio from last night.
I've listened to it twice.
There is a section — about four minutes in — where Patricia says, and I'm reading directly, 'the agency already has a family lined up, they just need the paperwork signed within seventy-two hours of delivery.' Do you know what she was referring to?"
The water was still running.
I could hear it.
"She wants to take the baby," I said.
"She wants to place the baby," Grace said carefully.
"Privately.
Without your consent.
That is not a family dispute.
That is a crjme."
I pressed my back against the wall.
The tile was cold through my shirt.
"What do I do?"
"First — do not let them know you've spoken to me.
Second — I need you to keep recording.
Every conversation.
Every visit from this doctor.
Every instruction they give you.
Third — I have already contacted a colleague who handles emergency protective orders.
She needs forty-eight hours."
"They said the baby could come any time after thirty-four weeks.
Patricia said—" I stopped.
"She said the finale was Friday."
"Today is Wednesday," Grace said.
"Yes."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"Then we don't have forty-eight hours," she said.
"I'm making a call right now.
Stay where you are.
Don't give them any reason to move you or restrict you further.
And whatever you do—"
The bathroom door handle moved.
I turned the tap off.
"I have to go," I whispered.
"Keep the phone on your body," Grace said.
"I'll handle the rest."
I slid the phone back under the waistband and opened the door.
Daniel was standing in the hallway.
He looked at the running tap, then at me.
"Who were you talking to?"
"Myself," I said.
"The baby was kicking.
I talk to her when she kicks."
He studied my face for a moment.
Whatever he was looking for, he didn't find it.
"Mom wants you back upstairs."
I walked past him toward the attic stairs.
My heart was hitting so hard I was sure he could hear it.
He couldn't.
May you like
But downstairs, through the front window, I saw a blue jacket.
Donna was still parked at the end of the street.
