Chapter 7
Taylor hung up, gripping his phone so hard his knuckles turned white.
A few minutes later, he left the clinic with Freddie in his arms.
Willow trailed behind, carrying the medicine.
I kept following them for a while.
They slipped into an old apartment block behind Sunnydale Kindergarten.
A window on the third floor was left slightly ajar.
On the balcony, a pair of tiny socks and a blue school jacket were hung up to dry.
I stood downstairs, catching Freddie's voice drifting down from above.
"Dad, should we bring Mom's photo too?" Freddie asked.
Taylor replied, "No."
Freddie asked again, "Will Isobel ever meet her mom?"
The room fell silent for a few seconds.
Then Willow's voice finally broke the silence, trembling.
"Don't ask," she said.
The next moment, a gust of wind blew the half-open curtains aside.
I spotted a black-and-white photo sitting on the living room cabinet.
The young woman in the picture had a soft, gentle smile.
The delicate chain around her neck was identical to the wedding anniversary necklace Taylor gave me.
I didn't go upstairs.
At that moment, I couldn't even bring myself to take another step forward.
I was afraid the door would open.
I was afraid Taylor would see me.
I was afraid Freddie would see me.
And I was even more afraid I'd lose it right in front of Freddie.
When I got home, the neighbor upstairs was waiting at the door, holding Isobel.
"Why do you look so pale?" she asked.
I took Isobel from her.
"The medicine's kicking in. I'm feeling a bit dizzy," I said.
She reminded me to rest up.
I smiled and thanked her.
After the door closed, I sat down on the floor in the entryway, holding Isobel in my arms.
Her tiny hand reached up and touched my chin.
I looked down at her, and she smiled up at me.
That smile was so pure that it made my heart ache.
I buried my face in her soft hair.
"I won't ever let anyone use you to fill the hole someone else left behind," I whispered.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I was stunned.
I realized my fear wasn't about Taylor cheating anymore.
What really scared me was that Taylor brought Willow into our home not just to care for Isobel.
He made sure someone who knew Freddie was always close to Isobel.
He let Willow know everything about Isobel's routine, her meals, and her health.
When I put it all together, it sent a chill down my spine.
That afternoon, another message popped up from the unknown number. [9 AM tomorrow, Oakridge Hospital, old building, side entrance. Come alone.]
I stared at the message and then replied with two words. [Who's that?]
There was no reply.
A few minutes later, another photo popped up.
It was a faded, yellowed hospital record.
It read: [Patient: Emmalee Sampson.
[Newborn: Male.
[Family member's signature: Taylor Francis.
[Relationship: Husband.]
My hand went limp, and my phone slipped from my grasp, landing softly on the carpet.
Isobel flinched at the noise, her mouth turning down, ready to cry.
I scooped her up, trying to soothe her.
"It's okay," I murmured.
But my voice was so rough, it barely sounded like me anymore.
That evening, Taylor came home with a bag of apples in his hand.
He said, "Willow said you wanted some."
I stared at the bag of apples.
"She told you that?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"You didn't go to the office today, did you?"
Taylor's expression shifted a bit. "I did."
I just smiled a little. "It's nothing, just asking."
He set the apples down on the dining table.
"Are you being a bit too sensitive these days?" he asked.
That sentence stung, sharp and sudden.
Back then, whenever I heard that, I'd start second-guessing myself.
Was I being paranoid?
Maybe it was postpartum hormones messing with me.
Maybe I was blowing things out of proportion.
But that was over now.
I saw him at the clinic with my own eyes.
I saw that boy in his arms.
I saw that black-and-white photo for myself.
I was done making excuses for his lies.
*****
The next day, I dropped Isobel off at my mom's place.
I told her I needed to go to the hospital for a check-up.
My mom noticed how pale I looked and asked why Taylor wasn't coming with me.
"He's busy," I said.
Just saying the word 'busy' felt so ironic to me.
The old building at Oakridge Hospital was way quieter than the new one.
Outside the side entrance, a woman was waiting.
She looked to be in her forties, wearing a dark coat, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail.
She spotted me and called out, "Ms. Sargent?"
I nodded.
"Was it you who sent me that message?" I asked.
She didn't deny it.
"I used to work as a nurse in the maternity ward," she said.
"Why me?"
She met my eyes, and I could see the weariness in her gaze. "Because someone's about to break."
My chest tightened. "Who?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she led me into the archive room beside the old building.
The air was thick with the musty smell of old paper.