Chapter 9: Forty-Eight Hours
Sandra Okafor called at 9:07 the following morning.
Evan put the phone on speaker.
Diane and I sat beside him at the kitchen table.
Daniel was in the living room with Noah.
Helen was in the guest room with the door closed.
"Mr.
Carter, I'm calling with our preliminary findings," Sandra said.
"Based on the evidence gathered during our visit, the documentation provided by your sister-in-law, the nurse's case notes, and the written statement received this morning from Mr.
and Mrs.
Daniel Carter, we are closing the welfare concern filed against Maya Carter."
I pressed my hand flat against the table.
"The concern is being marked as unfounded," Sandra continued.
"Furthermore, the circumstances surrounding the original filing — specifically, the deliberate obstruction of postpartum medical support — have been flagged for internal review.
I want to be transparent with you: that review may result in a formal finding against the person who filed the report."
Evan looked at me.
"What does that mean practically?" he asked.
"It means that if our review finds the report was filed in bad faith — with the intent to harm rather than protect — that finding becomes part of the official record.
It can be referenced in any future legal proceedings."
"Future proceedings," Evan said.
"If any were to occur, yes."
The line was quiet for a moment.
"Thank you, Sandra," Evan said.
"Take care of your family, Mr.
Carter."
The call ended.
Nobody spoke for a moment.
Then Diane put her hand over mine on the table.
"It's done," she said.
"Not entirely," I said.
She looked at me.
"Helen is still in the guest room," I said.
Evan stood up.
He walked down the hallway.
I heard him knock on the guest room door.
A pause.
The door opening.
"I need you to pack," he said.
"I'll drive you to the train station."
Helen's voice, muffled: "Evan—"
"This isn't a discussion.
I'll give you an hour."
His footsteps came back down the hallway.
He sat back down at the table.
None of us said anything.
From the living room, we could hear Daniel talking softly to Noah.
Little sounds.
A baby not yet old enough to understand any of it, being held by an uncle who had driven three hours because the truth had finally found its way into the light.
Forty-seven minutes later, Helen's suitcase wheels crossed the hardwood floor.
She stopped in the kitchen doorway.
She looked at Evan.
Then at me.
"I hope one day you'll understand," she said.
"I understand now," I said.
"That's the problem."
She left without saying anything else.
The front door closed.
Noah made a small sound from the living room.
Not crying.
Just present.
May you like
Just there.
Diane squeezed my hand.
