Chapter 4: The Woman Behind the Records
For three full seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
“Camille?””
The nurse’s voice trembled through the phone.
“Yes.””
“You need to listen carefully. I can’t stay on this call long.””
I looked through the open doorway at Camille.
She was staring at me.
She had heard enough from my expression to know the conversation mattered.
“What did she do?”” I whispered.
The nurse lowered her voice.
“Your medical file was accessed without authorization. Several entries were altered.””
My fingers went numb.
“Altered how?””
“There was a note added to your chart indicating that you had provided consent for reproductive treatment connected to Adrian’s case.””
“I never did.””
“I know.””
“Then why is it there?””
The nurse hesitated.
“Because someone logged into the system using credentials assigned to a member of the clinic staff.””
My eyes locked on Camille.
“Her?””
“I can’t discuss personal information over the phone.””
“You just told me her name.””
“I’m telling you what the access log shows.””
My throat tightened.
“Then tell me everything.””
“I can’t. Not on an unsecured call.””
“Please.””
The nurse inhaled sharply.
“There’s a hard-copy file. Westbrook keeps archived paperwork for certain procedures. Your signature appears on one of those forms.””
“But I never signed anything.””
“I know.””
“Then whose signature is it?””
Silence.
That silence was enough to make my stomach twist.
“Whose signature?””
The nurse finally answered.
“Someone copied yours.””
The call ended.
I stared at my phone.
The rain had stopped, but I could still hear water dripping from the gutters outside.
Behind me, Adrian said my name.
I turned.
He was standing beside Camille.
Neither of them looked surprised.
That frightened me more than anything.
“You knew.””
Adrian shook his head.
“Not about the records.””
“Then why aren’t you shocked?””
“I am.””
“You don't look shocked.””
“I’m trying to understand.””
“No.””
I pointed at him.
“You’re trying to decide what to hide.””
Camille stepped forward.
“Olivia, listen to me.””
I laughed bitterly.
“You've said that all night.””
“I can explain.””
“Then explain.””
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came.
I took a step toward her.
“Why did the nurse say your name?””
Camille looked at Adrian.
He gave the smallest shake of his head.
I saw it.
A warning.
A command.
And suddenly I understood something.
They had been doing this for months.
Maybe longer.
Protecting one another.
Keeping secrets.
Changing stories.
And I had been the only person standing outside the circle.
“Did you access my medical records?””
Camille’s eyes filled with tears.
“Not the way you think.””
“There is no ‘way I think.’ There is only what happened.””
“I never wanted to hurt you.””
“You keep saying that like it excuses anything.””
Adrian stepped between us.
“That’s enough.””
I stared at him.
“No.””
He blinked.
“No?””
“You don't get to say that anymore.””
I walked into the living room.
My legs felt weak, but I refused to sit.
“What happened at Westbrook on January 16?””
Adrian looked at Camille.
She whispered, “Tell her.””
He shook his head.
“Adrian,” I said.
“Tell me.””
He finally spoke.
“I went there to get answers.””
“About your fertility?””
“Yes.””
“And Camille was there?””
“She came with me.””
“Why?””
“Because she knew what I was going through.””
I looked at Camille.
“How convenient.””
She wiped her cheek.
“I had my own appointment that day.””
“At the same clinic?””
“Yes.””
I remembered the report.
The fertility consultation.
The paperwork bearing my name.
The donor recommendation.
My stomach turned.
“Were you receiving treatment?””
Camille nodded.
“Yes.””
“What kind?””
She hesitated.
“IVF.””
The word hung between us.
I felt suddenly cold.
“And Adrian?””
“He wasn't my donor.””
I looked at her.
“Then why was he there?””
She glanced toward him.
“Because he was helping me.””
“Financially?””
“Yes.””
My laugh came out sharp.
“So my husband was secretly paying for your fertility treatment while I was pregnant with his child?””
Camille looked down.
“I was going through a difficult time.””
“So was I.””
“I know.””
“You don't know anything about what I went through.””
Her eyes lifted.
“I know more than you think.””
Something in the way she said it made me stop.
“What does that mean?””
She didn't answer.
I looked at Adrian.
“What does she know?””
Adrian's face had gone rigid.
“Olivia, this isn't the time.””
“Then tell me when is the time?””
He said nothing.
I took out my phone.
“I’m going to the clinic.””
Both of them reacted immediately.
“No.””
Adrian's voice was firm.
I stared at him.
“Why not?””
“Because you're upset.””
“I’m clear enough to know someone forged my signature.””
“Let me handle it.””
“You've handled enough.””
He stepped toward me.
“Please.””
I moved away.
“Don't.””
His face crumpled.
For a second, I almost felt sorry for him.
Then I remembered him telling me to get out.
I remembered his arm around Camille.
And I remembered the message.
*The person who changed your medical records was Camille.*
I walked toward the hallway.
“I’m going upstairs.””
“To pack?””
I stopped.
“No.””
He looked confused.
“I’m going to check something.””
I climbed the stairs slowly.
Behind me, I heard Adrian whispering urgently to Camille.
Their voices became muffled.
Then a single sentence reached me.
“We need to get that file before she does.””
I froze halfway up the staircase.
My heart pounded.
I quietly turned around.
They were in the kitchen.
Camille was speaking in a low voice.
“Where is it?””
“I don't know.””
“You said you moved it.””
“I did.””
“Then where?””
“I need time.””
“You don't have time.””
I backed away from the stairs.
They were talking about a file.
My file.
I went upstairs.
Our bedroom looked exactly as I had left it that morning.
My perfume sat beside the mirror.
Adrian’s watch rested on the dresser.
My pregnancy vitamins were lined up beside a glass of water.
Everything looked normal.
That was the cruelest part.
I opened the drawer beside the bed.
Nothing.
I checked the closet.
Nothing.
Then I remembered the nursery.
Adrian had insisted on installing a small wall safe there months ago.
He said it was for important documents.
I walked into the nursery.
The room smelled faintly of fresh paint and cedar.
The crib stood against the window.
Pink curtains moved gently in the evening breeze.
I touched the tiny mobile hanging above the crib.
A little moon.
Stars.
Clouds.
Adrian had chosen it.
He had said our daughter deserved to fall asleep beneath a sky.
My eyes burned.
“Where did you put it?””
I whispered the question to an empty room.
Then I noticed the safe.
I entered the code.
The door clicked open.
Inside were passports, insurance documents, property papers…
And an envelope.
My name was written across it.
*OLIVIA HART*
I pulled it out.
My hands shook.
There were three documents inside.
The first was a copy of my driver’s license.
The second was a medical authorization form.
The third was an ultrasound report.
I stared at the ultrasound.
It was mine.
Same date.
Same pregnancy.
But the patient information had been changed.
I read it twice.
Then I saw the father’s name.
My breath caught.
The report listed the biological father as *Unknown*.
Not Adrian.
Not anyone.
Unknown.
I sank onto the nursery floor.
The baby kicked.
I pressed both hands against my stomach.
“It’s okay,” I whispered.
But my voice broke.
“No matter what happens, I’m your mother.””
A floorboard creaked behind me.
I spun around.
Adrian stood in the doorway.
His eyes went straight to the envelope.
“Olivia.””
I stood.
“You knew about this.””
He didn't answer.
“You knew.””
“I knew there were questions.””
“You knew my records had been altered.””
“Not exactly.””
“You're still lying.””
“I'm not.””
“Then why were you trying to stop me from coming upstairs?””
He looked at the papers.
“Because I was afraid of what you'd find.””
I stepped closer.
“What exactly were you afraid I'd find?””
He rubbed his hands over his face.
“I didn't know how to tell you.””
“Try.””
He looked at me.
His eyes were red.
Then he said the sentence that made my blood run cold.
“The clinic called me three days before you announced your pregnancy.””
I stared.
“What did they say?””
“They told me your records showed evidence of reproductive treatment.””
“I never had treatment.””
“I know.””
“Then what did they tell you?””
His voice dropped.
“They said someone had submitted paperwork in your name.””
“Camille.””
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.””
I felt the room tilt.
“Why?””
“I don't know.””
“You're still protecting her.””
“No.””
“Then tell me the truth.””
He hesitated.
“She wasn't trying to create your pregnancy.””
“What?””
“She was trying to prevent it.””
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?””
Adrian looked toward the hallway.
Then back at me.
“Camille believed you were going to leave me.””
My mouth fell open.
“So she tampered with my medical records because she was jealous?””
“That wasn't the whole story.””
“Then what was?””
He stepped closer.
“She knew something about your pregnancy before either of us did.””
My heartbeat thundered.
“How?””
“I don't know.””
“Adrian.””
“I swear.””
“Then who told her?””
He looked at me.
His expression changed.
And I knew, before he spoke, that the answer would hurt.
“Your doctor.””
I shook my head.
“My doctor would never.””
Adrian swallowed.
“Olivia, there's something else you need to know.””
“What?””
He looked down at the ultrasound in my hand.
“The doctor who signed that report…”
He paused.
“…is dead.””
I stared at him.
“What?””
“He died six months ago.””
A cold silence filled the nursery.
Then my phone vibrated.
A new message.
I looked down.
This time, there was no text.
Only a photograph.
A hospital security image.
Three people stood in a hallway outside the fertility clinic.
One was Adrian.
One was Camille.
And the third person…
was me.
Except the photograph was dated *January 16*.
I had never been there.
And in the picture, my hand was resting protectively over a stomach that was completely flat.
May you like
Another message appeared beneath it.
*Olivia, you need to remember what happened that day—because you were there.*
