Chapter 7: The Woman I Used to Be
“You were reported missing that day.””
The officer’s words echoed through the conference room.
I stared at him.
Then at Adrian.
Then back at the photograph in his hand.
“No.””
My voice came out as a whisper.
“No, that’s not possible.””
The officer, a man with tired eyes and a calm expression, placed the photograph on the table.
“We’re not here to accuse you of anything, Mrs. Hart.””
“Then why are you here?””
“Because there are unanswered questions.””
“What questions?””
He glanced at the folder.
“January 16.””
My stomach tightened.
Everyone kept saying that date.
As if it was a door I had locked inside my own mind.
As if the truth was waiting behind it.
“What happened that day?””
The officer looked at Adrian.
“I was hoping your husband could answer some of that.””
I turned slowly.
Adrian looked away.
Again.
That movement.
That hesitation.
It felt like a knife.
“You knew.””
He looked at me.
“Olivia…”
“You knew I was reported missing.””
“I knew something happened.””
“What does that mean?””
He stepped closer.
“After the clinic called me, I started looking into things.””
“When?””
“Months ago.””
I laughed.
A painful sound.
“Months.””
“I was trying to protect you.””
“No.””
I shook my head.
“You were trying to protect yourself.””
The officer remained silent.
He had seen enough broken marriages to recognize when the truth was still hiding.
“Mrs. Hart,” he said gently, “do you remember leaving your home on January 15?””
I frowned.
“No.””
“Do you remember arguing with anyone?””
“No.””
“Do you remember going to Westbrook?””
“No.””
“Do you remember your mother finding you unconscious?””
I froze.
My mother’s words came back.
I found you unconscious.
“No.””
My voice shook.
“I don’t remember any of it.””
The officer nodded.
“That’s consistent with the report.””
“What report?””
He opened a folder.
“The original police report.””
He placed a copy on the table.
I looked down.
My name was printed at the top.
*Missing Person Report: Olivia Hart.*
The date.
January 16.
My hands began trembling.
“Who filed this?””
The officer looked at Adrian.
I followed his eyes.
My husband swallowed.
“I did.””
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
“You filed a missing person report?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because I couldn’t find you.””
“When?””
“After you left the house.””
I shook my head.
“I didn't leave the house.””
Adrian’s face tightened.
“You did.””
“No.””
“You were gone when I woke up.””
I stared.
“What?””
He looked devastated.
“Olivia, you don’t remember.””
“Remember what?””
He took a breath.
“The night before January 16.””
My mind searched.
Nothing.
A blank space.
A terrifying blank space.
“We had a fight.””
I frowned.
“We did?””
“Yes.””
“About what?””
He hesitated.
“About Camille.””
My chest tightened.
“You knew about her?””
“No.””
“Then why were we fighting?””
He looked down.
“Because you found out I had been helping her.””
I stared.
“So I did know.””
“Yes.””
“Then what happened?””
He rubbed his hands together.
“You accused me of having an affair.””
“Because I was right.””
His eyes closed briefly.
“Yes.””
The admission was quiet.
But it still hurt.
“I left that night,” he continued.
“Where did I go?””
“I thought you went to your sister’s.””
“But I didn’t.””
“No.””
“Then where?””
He looked at the floor.
“Westbrook.””
I shook my head.
“I would remember.””
“I know.””
“No. You don’t.””
My voice broke.
“You don’t know what it feels like to have someone tell you about your own life like it belongs to someone else.””
The officer interrupted gently.
“Mrs. Hart, there is something important.””
I looked at him.
“Your memory loss may not have been accidental.””
The room became silent.
“What?””
He turned a page.
“The report from January 16 mentions possible medication exposure.””
My blood ran cold.
“Drugged.””
The officer nodded.
“We suspect you may have been given something that affected your memory.””
“By who?””
“We don’t know.””
My eyes moved to Adrian.
Then away.
I hated that my first thought was him.
I hated that I couldn't trust the man I once trusted with everything.
The officer continued.
“But there is another issue.””
“What?””
“Your missing person report was closed after twenty-four hours.””
“Why?””
“Because you returned.””
I stared.
“I returned?””
“Yes.””
“When?””
“January 17.””
I felt dizzy.
“I don't remember.””
“I know.””
“Where was I?””
The officer looked at the paper.
“At Westbrook.””
My heart dropped.
“What?””
“You were found in a recovery room.””
The room seemed to shrink.
I held onto the table.
“I was there for a day?””
“Yes.””
“Why didn't anyone tell me?””
The officer didn't answer.
Adrian did.
“Because you didn’t remember.””
I looked at him.
“And you thought that was okay?””
“No.””
“But you let me go home.””
“I was scared.””
“You were scared?””
He looked broken.
“I didn’t know what to believe.””
I stared at him.
“You thought I betrayed you.””
“Yes.””
“You thought I cheated.””
“Yes.””
“And instead of asking me, you watched me walk back into our house carrying a baby you thought wasn't yours.””
His eyes filled.
“Yes.””
The truth hurt more than any lie.
Because for the first time, he wasn't hiding.
He was admitting how badly he had failed me.
I turned away.
The officer cleared his throat.
“There’s one more thing.””
I looked back.
“What?””
“We found a second report.””
“About what?””
“About the embryo transfer.””
My breathing stopped.
“Where?””
“In Dr. Cole’s office.””
The name made my stomach twist.
“What did it say?””
The officer looked uncomfortable.
“It suggested the procedure was not done for medical reasons.””
“Then why?””
He opened the file.
“Someone wanted to create a specific pregnancy outcome.””
My hand moved protectively over my stomach.
“What outcome?””
He looked at Adrian.
Then at me.
“Your daughter.””
The words froze me.
“What about my daughter?””
The officer lowered his voice.
“The records indicate someone wanted her to be born.””
“That doesn’t make sense.””
“It gets more complicated.””
I waited.
“Because the person who authorized the procedure…”
He paused.
“…was listed as Olivia Hart.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
“We know.””
“I didn’t authorize anything.””
“We know.””
“Then why is my name there?””
The officer looked at the folder.
“Because someone wanted it to look like you did.””
I sat back.
Everything connected.
The forged signatures.
The altered records.
The missing day.
Someone had built a story.
A story where I was responsible.
A story where Adrian had a reason to doubt me.
A story where Camille could walk into my marriage and take everything.
But why?
Why my baby?
Why my embryos?
Why go this far?
My phone suddenly rang.
Everyone looked at it.
Unknown number.
Again.
I answered.
No one spoke for several seconds.
Then a voice whispered.
“Olivia.””
My heart stopped.
I knew that voice.
“Who is this?””
A shaky breath.
“It’s Dr. Cole.””
The room went silent.
I stood.
“That’s impossible.””
“I know what they told you.””
“Because you’re dead.””
“I’m not.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Where are you?””
“I don’t have much time.””
“Why did you sign those documents?””
Silence.
Then:
“Because I was trying to stop Camille.””
I looked at Adrian.
He looked just as shocked as I was.
“Stop her from doing what?””
The voice trembled.
“From taking your baby.””
My hand covered my mouth.
“What?””
“She knows the truth about the pregnancy.””
“What truth?””
Another pause.
Then he whispered:
“Olivia, the baby you’re carrying…”
I felt my heartbeat pounding.
“…is not the only child involved.””
My blood went cold.
“What does that mean?””
The line crackled.
“Camille’s embryo transfer wasn’t a failure.””
I couldn't breathe.
“What are you saying?””
His voice became urgent.
“She’s pregnant too.””
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Nobody moved.
Then Adrian whispered:
“No.””
I looked at him.
His face had gone completely white.
Because he knew something.
Something he had never told me.
“Adrian.””
He didn’t answer.
“Look at me.””
Slowly, he did.
“Did you know?””
His lips parted.
And before he could speak, my phone received one final message.
A photo.
Camille standing outside a hospital room.
Holding a pregnancy test.
Taken three weeks earlier.
May you like
Underneath it was a single sentence:
*Ask your husband who the father of Camille’s baby really is.*
