Chapter 3

I didn't fall apart right away.

I kept digging through David's shopping history.

The second order.

Same medicine.

The purchase date was three weeks before I lost my second baby, before I got pregnant with Alex.

The third order.

Same medicine.

The purchase date was two weeks before I lost my third baby, right before I got pregnant with Lily.

Three miscarriages.

Three orders for the same medicine.

The timing matched up exactly.

I had carried my own babies three times.

And every single one slipped away.

It wasn't because of my health.

It was David, mixing something into my medicine.

I sat on the bed, the glow from my phone screen casting a cold light on my face.

I didn't cry.

I kept counting.

Three lives.

Three lives that had been inside me.

He destroyed them.

Then he shoved his and Jessica's kids into my arms.

Made me their mother for eight years.

I remembered what it was like when I was pregnant with Sophie.

For those first three months, I was basically glued to the bed, not allowed to move an inch.

David brought me medicine every single day, never missing a dose.

I was so touched, I actually cried.

I said, "Thank you, honey."

He smiled and said, "You're my wife. Of course I should take care of you."

Of course he should. That's what a husband's supposed to do, right?

But he knew exactly what he'd put in that bowl of medicine; better than anyone.

Then I remembered what happened when I was pregnant with Alex.

After I lost the baby, I spent a whole week in the hospital.

Jessica came to see me, carrying a bouquet of flowers. "Emily, you are so fragile. You really need to take better care of yourself."

I squeezed her hand and said, "Thank you, Jessie."

She smiled and said, "We're sisters. No need to thank me."

Sisters.

She was sleeping with my husband while comforting me after my miscarriage. The irony was almost laughable.

Then I thought about when I was pregnant with Lily.

After my third miscarriage, I started bleeding so badly I nearly died.

The doctor said if this kept up, I might never be able to have kids again.

I lay there in that hospital bed, David holding my hand like the perfect husband.

"It's okay," he said softly. "We don't have to try for more kids.

"Sophie and Alex are enough for us."

He sounded so sincere, so convincing.

But that was because he already had three kids of his own.

One was lost inside me.

Another was growing inside Jessica.

And in a few months, he'd hand me another one of Jessica's babies to raise.

He never lost anything.

He had a wife to bring in the money.

He had a mistress to give him children.

And he had a free nanny, me, to raise them all.

This wasn't a family.

This was a breeding factory.

And I was nothing but the free labor; the cow.

I put my phone down.

Took a deep breath.

Then I made a decision.

I'd keep my cool.

And keep digging for the truth.

The next day, I took half a day off.

I went to the hospital where I'd given birth to Sophie.

I found the medical records office and asked to see my records from eight years ago.

The staff pulled up my file.

I flipped through every page.

Admission records.

Pre-op tests.

Surgical consent forms.

Anesthesia records.

Operation notes.

Discharge summary.

Everything looked normal.

No weird notes, nothing suspicious.

But something caught my eye.

My attending doctor, his last name was Carter.

It was same as my husband.

I checked up on this doctor.

He'd moved away.

Five years ago, he left the city for another hospital out of state.

I checked David's relatives.

David's uncle, William Carter, was a OB-GYN.

He'd left the city five years ago too.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

So this wasn't David and Jessica.

Turns out, the Carter family was involved too.

This was all set up from the start.

I walked out of the hospital, standing outside the doors.

The sun was scorching, and the pavement felt like it was on fire.

I pulled out my phone and opened up the family group chat.

I scrolled back through the chat history.

I found a thread from three years back.

They figured I wasn't in the group, so I wouldn't see any of this.

But I never deleted any of the group messages.

Linda: [Jessie's belly is getting big. We need to make sure everything's set up this time.]

May: [Don't worry, we'll do it like last time.]

Richard: [What about Emily?]

David: [I'll handle it.]

Linda: [After this one, no more. Three kids are enough.]

May: [Yeah, Jessie's body can't take any more.]

I stared at those messages.

I recognized every word.

But strung together, they cut like a knife.

Like last time.

I'll handle it.

Jessie's body can't take any more.

All of them.

Every last one.

They all knew except me.

I left the family group chat.

I scrolled through my contacts.

Stopped at a familiar name.

Monica Reed.

She was my college friend, now a partner at a law firm here in town.

I hit dial. "Monica, I need your advice on something."

"What's up?" she answered.

"If a husband slips something into his wife's medicine to make her miscarry, what kind of crime is that?"

There was a pause, two seconds of silence.

"Emily, are you talking about yourself?" Monica's voice was tense.

"Yeah," I said quietly.

"Don't do anything rash. I'm coming over right now. Gather everything you have; every bit of evidence."

I ended the call.

Then I opened the notes app on my phone.

Started a new document.

Title: [Evidence Log.]