Chapter 5: She Came Anyway
Daniel stood up when I showed him the message.
"She doesn't get to come in here," he said.
"I know."
"Tell me you're not going to let her in."
I looked at the message again.
*I'm outside the hospital.* Not *I'm sorry.* Not *How are you.* Not *How is the baby.* Just — I am outside, and I need something from you.
"I'm not letting her in," I said.
"But I want to hear what she says."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he sat back down.
I typed: *You have five minutes.
Talk.*
Her reply came fast.
Too fast.
She had been holding it ready.
*The drink wasn't supposed to be like that.
Mom said it was just something to make you feel unwell so you'd leave early and we could talk to Grandpa's lawyer without you there.
She said it was harmless.
I didn't know it would—*
I stopped reading.
Read it again from the beginning.
She knew about the drink.
She had known the whole time.
I showed Daniel.
He read it without expression.
Then he picked up his own phone and took a screenshot.
I typed back: *You knew there was something in my drink before you kicked me.*
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
*I didn't know it would do that.
I swear.
Mom told me it was just—*
*You kicked me in the stomach,* I typed.
*While I was already feeling the effects of something you knew was in my drink.
You knew.
And you kicked me anyway.*
No reply for almost two minutes.
Then: *I panicked.
You were waving the document around and saying you were going to the lawyer first thing Monday and I just—I lost it.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
Please don't let them arrest me.
I have a daughter too.
Please.*
Her daughter is four years old.
Her name is Ivy.
I have held that little girl on my lap and read her picture books.
I sat with that for a moment.
Then I typed: *Go home, Diane.*
*Please—*
*Go home.*
I turned my phone face down on the tray table.
Daniel was watching me.
"She knew."
"She knew."
"That changes the charge," he said quietly.
"That's not just assault.
If she knew there was already a substance in your system and she deliberately—"
"I know," I said.
"Olivia."
"I know, Daniel."
He was quiet.
Outside in the hallway, someone was being paged over the intercom.
A cart rolled past the door.
Normal sounds.
Hospital sounds.
The world continuing.
"She sent that message in writing," he said.
"I know."
"We need to forward it to the detective tonight."
"I know." I looked at the ceiling.
"I just need a minute."
He gave me the minute.
That is one of the things about Daniel — he knows when to stop talking.
My sister had a four-year-old daughter.
My sister had also watched me drink something she knew had been tampered with, waited two hours, and then walked across a yard and kicked me in the stomach while I was six months pregnant.
Both of those things were true at the same time.
I picked up my phone.
Forwarded the message thread to the detective's number he had given us before we left the scene.
Then I put the phone down again and looked at the monitor.
Clara's heartbeat moved in its slow, steady line.
"She's going to be okay," Daniel said.
"She is," I said.
My phone buzzed.
The detective: *Received.
We'll be in touch in the morning.
Get some rest.*
Then, thirty seconds later, a call came in from my father.
I watched it ring.
Daniel watched it ring.
May you like
It went to voicemail.
He did not leave one.
