Chapter 2

Series 1 Chapter 2

Within forty-eight hours, Layla had completely taken over the household.

She rearranged the baby nursery, altered my meal plans, and handed Joshua his coffee every morning with a soft touch on his wrist.

Joshua's eyes barely rested on me anymore. Whenever Layla moved across the living room, his gaze followed her every step.

When I mentioned that my prescribed iron supplements had disappeared from the kitchen counter, Layla gave me a sympathetic, pitying smile.

"Oh, Mrs. Walsh, I'm so sorry," she said gently, pouring me a glass of room-temperature water. "Late-term pregnancies cause so much memory fog. Men are under tremendous stress too. Joshua is just looking out for your health. Don't let your mind play tricks on you."

When I brought it up to Joshua that night, he folded his arms and scoffed.

"Erica, stop being paranoid," he snapped. "Layla is a top-certified professional. She's doing everything for your own good. Why do you insist on making every single day so difficult?"

I didn't argue. I didn't shed a single tear.

I didn't doubt what I had seen in the garage. But a six-second audio recording wouldn't destroy them. I didn't need emotional confrontation; I needed irrefutable, fatal evidence.

Sitting in the dimly lit bedroom, I opened my black leather pregnancy journal to page 210 and transcribed his exact words, anchoring myself in cold, hard reality.

At midnight, the house was deathly silent.

I crept downstairs to get a glass of water. The pantry door was cracked open, casting a narrow strip of yellow light across the dark hallway floor.

Layla stood inside with her back turned. She unscrewed a small prescription bottle, popped two yellow tablets into her mouth, and swallowed them quickly with water.

High-dose prenatal folic acid -- prescribed exclusively during the first trimester of pregnancy.

After her bedroom door clicked shut, I walked into the kitchen and checked the recycling bin beneath the counter.

Buried beneath crumpled paper towels lay a small, folded slip of pink paper.

An OB-GYN appointment confirmation from St. Jude's Medical Center.

Patient: Layla. Gestational Age: 10 Weeks.

My hands stayed steady. My chest stayed completely cold.

Layla wasn't just Joshua's secret lover. She was pregnant.

I flattened the pink slip, walked back to my room, and slipped it directly between the heavy pages of Page 210 in my journal.

Chapter 2

Series 1 Chapter 2

Within forty-eight hours, Layla had completely taken over the household.

She rearranged the baby nursery, altered my meal plans, and handed Joshua his coffee every morning with a soft touch on his wrist.

Joshua's eyes barely rested on me anymore. Whenever Layla moved across the living room, his gaze followed her every step.

When I mentioned that my prescribed iron supplements had disappeared from the kitchen counter, Layla gave me a sympathetic, pitying smile.

When I brought it up to Joshua that night, he folded his arms and scoffed.

"Erica, stop being paranoid," he snapped. "Layla is a top-certified professional. She's doing everything for your own good. Why do you insist on making every single day so difficult?"

I didn't argue. I didn't shed a single tear.

I didn't doubt what I had seen in the garage. But a six-second audio recording wouldn't destroy them. I didn't need emotional confrontation; I needed irrefutable, fatal evidence.

Sitting in the dimly lit bedroom, I opened my black leather pregnancy journal to page 210 and transcribed his exact words, anchoring myself in cold, hard reality.

At midnight, the house was deathly silent.

I crept downstairs to get a glass of water. The pantry door was cracked open, casting a narrow strip of yellow light across the dark hallway floor.

Layla stood inside with her back turned. She unscrewed a small prescription bottle, popped two yellow tablets into her mouth, and swallowed them quickly with water.

High-dose prenatal folic acid -- prescribed exclusively during the first trimester of pregnancy.

After her bedroom door clicked shut, I walked into the kitchen and checked the recycling bin beneath the counter.

Buried beneath crumpled paper towels lay a small, folded slip of pink paper.

An OB-GYN appointment confirmation from St. Jude's Medical Center.

Patient: Layla. Gestational Age: 10 Weeks.

My hands stayed steady. My chest stayed completely cold.

Layla wasn't just Joshua's secret lover. She was pregnant.

I flattened the pink slip, walked back to my room, and slipped it directly between the heavy pages of Page 210 in my journal.