Chapter 4
I laid it all out for Julia.
I started with the insurance policy.
Then I went through the bank records.
Then I gave her the delivery address.
I gave her the name of the complex, Golden Oaks.
And I gave her Emily's name.
She was silent for ten seconds after hearing everything.
"Are you calm?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm calm," I replied.
"All right. First, you paid for that house in full before the wedding and the deed is in your name only, so it's separate property. Getting married doesn't give him a claim on it," Julia said.
"Okay," I replied.
"Second, nobody gets added to your policy without the policyholder signing off. If you never signed anything, that addition is fraud," Julia said.
"I never signed anything," I said.
"Third, don't tip him off. Don't let him know you've been looking. You've got a lot already, but there's one piece missing," Julia said.
"What is it?" I asked.
"The delivery consent form Peter signed the day that boy was born. If it's dated the same day you lost your baby, that's the whole case," Julia said.
"How do I get it?" I asked.
"He's listed as your dependent and you're the policyholder, so on paper you're the adult responsible for him. You can walk into the hospital and request his birth records," Julia said.
I was stunned for a moment.
By putting the boy under my name, Peter had handed me the right to pull his records.
Julia laughed, and there was no warmth in it.
"He shot himself in the foot," she said.
The next day, I went to the City Women & Children's Hospital.
I brought my insurance card and my driver's license.
The clerk at the records desk looked over my documents.
"Lucas Bennett's birth records?" she asked.
"That's right," I said.
She printed two sheets of paper.
The first was a copy of the birth certificate.
[Mother: Emily James.]
[Father: Peter Bennett.]
The second sheet was the delivery consent form.
[Family signature: Peter Bennett.]
[Date signed: April 16, 2023.]
The date was April 16.
It was not the seventeenth, the day the boy was born.
It was the sixteenth, the day Emily checked in.
That date belonged to me too.
It was the day I lay alone in an emergency room and signed my own surgical consent form.
At the very same time, Peter was in another delivery room, sitting beside another woman.
He signed the paperwork as "family."
That day, I called him seven times.
He finally answered on the seventh call.
He said, "I can't leave right now."
He was right there the whole time.
He was in the delivery room.
I folded the two sheets of paper and slipped them into my bag.
I walked out of the hospital.
Before heading home, I did one more thing.
I went to the hospital where I lost my baby.
I walked up to the registration desk.
"I'd like a copy of my surgical records from April of 2023," I said.
"Do you have your ID?" the nurse asked.
"Yeah, I brought it," I replied.
Five minutes later, the nurse handed me a copy.
It was the surgical consent form.
[Patient's signature: Natalie Sinclair.]
[Family signature: blank.]
[Note: Signed by patient.]
[Date: April 16, 2023.]
I stared at my own signature, feeling a wave of emotion wash over me.
My hand was shaking so badly that day.
My handwriting was shaky and messy.
I didn't even finish writing my name.
I folded the paper and slipped it into my bag.
It went in beside the form Peter had signed in the delivery room.
There were two sheets of paper now.
Both carried the same date.
There were two signatures on them.
That night, Peter came home.
He walked in with takeout.
"Natalie, I got stuck at work and didn't have time to cook, so I picked up your favorite pasta," he said.
"Thanks," I replied.
I took the bag from him.
"Peter," I said.
"Yeah?" he replied.
"Do you remember April 16, 2023?" I asked.
His hands stopped.
The pause was short.
It didn't last a full second.
He went back to taking off his coat.
"April? What about it? Hang on, let me think..." he said.
"The day I lost the baby," I said.