Hannah’s blood went cold.
There it was.
Not the whole plan.
Just the shadow of it.
The file.
Dr. Mercer stopped.
Denise looked at Hannah.
Caleb lowered his voice, suddenly gentle, suddenly wounded, suddenly performing for the nurses at the desk.
“She stopped taking her prenatal vitamins. She’s been paranoid. She thinks everyone is against her. I’ve been trying to protect her, but she won’t listen.”
Hannah stared at him.
She had never missed a vitamin.
She had never been paranoid.
She had been watched.
There was a difference.
Caleb turned to Dr. Mercer. “Call her psychiatrist.”
“I don’t have a psychiatrist,” Hannah said.
Caleb did not look at her.
“She forgets,” he said softly.
The cruelty of it landed harder because he delivered it like concern.
Denise’s face changed.
Not belief.
Recognition.
She had seen men like Caleb before.
Men who arrived with flowers after bruises.
Men who answered questions meant for their wives.
Men who smiled while quietly building cages.
Dr. Mercer said, “Mr. Whitmore, if you block this gurney again, security will remove you.”
Caleb leaned in.
“My family funds this hospital.”
A voice behind him answered.
“Not anymore.”
The double doors at the end of the hall slammed open.
A man strode in wearing a dark navy suit, no overcoat, rain on his shoulders, and a look so controlled it frightened people more than rage would have.
Ryan Carter looked exactly like Hannah.
Same gray eyes.
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