Chapter 2 - The Report He Buried
For several seconds, I could not hear anything except the faint ticking of the clock above Garrison Blackwood’s kitchen door.
The lab report lay between my hands.
Julian Mercer.
Severe male-factor infertility.
Near-zero probability of natural conception.
The words did not look real.
I read them again.
Then again.
Six years.
Six years of injections that left purple bruises across my stomach. Six years of blood draws before sunrise. Six years of procedures performed under fluorescent lights while Julian sat beside me pretending we were fighting the same battle.
Six years of his mother, Eleanor, looking at me across Thanksgiving tables with pity sharpened into cruelty.
Maybe some women simply aren’t meant to be mothers.
Maybe Julian should have chosen differently.
A man deserves a legacy.
I had believed all of it.
Not because doctors had ever definitively blamed me, but because Julian had slowly taught me to carry the guilt.
“What is this?” I whispered.
Garrison stood across from me, one hand resting on the back of a wooden chair.
“A copy.”
“Of what?”
“A report your husband apparently didn’t want you to see.”
I looked up.
“How did you get it?”
His expression changed.
Not much.
But enough.
The quiet neighbor I had known for three years seemed to disappear, replaced by someone colder.
More careful.
“Seven years ago, I was sheriff of Cedar Hollow County,” he said. “Most people around here know that part.”
I nodded.
“What most people don’t know is that I spent my final two years working with the state on corruption cases. Insurance fraud. Prescription schemes. Medical billing. Judges taking favors. Administrators selling records.”
My fingers tightened around the paper.
“The clinic?”
“Bellweather Reproductive Center.”
My stomach turned.
That was the clinic Julian and I had used during our second year of treatment.
Garrison continued.
“One of the administrators there was named Martin Hale. He was suspected of altering patient files for wealthy clients.”
“Why?”
“Divorce. Insurance. Inheritance. Reputation. Whatever someone was willing to pay for.”
I stared at Julian’s report.
“You’re saying Julian paid him?”
“I’m saying Julian’s name appeared in Hale’s records.”
The room felt suddenly too small.
“Why didn’t anyone arrest Julian?”
“Because the investigation collapsed before we could finish it.”
“Collapsed?”
Garrison’s jaw tightened.
“Hale disappeared.”
I stopped breathing.
“Disappeared?”
“Three days before he was supposed to testify.”
Outside, rain had begun tapping softly against the windows.
Garrison walked to a cabinet and removed an old black binder.
He placed it on the table.
Inside were photocopies of bank transfers, handwritten notes, insurance forms, and names I did not recognize.
Then he turned to one page.
JULIAN MERCER — CONSULTING PAYMENT — $18,500.
My throat went dry.
“That could mean anything.”
“It could.”
“You think he paid someone eighteen thousand dollars to hide his infertility?”
“I think we should let evidence tell us what happened instead of anger.”
His calm irritated me.
I wanted anger.
I wanted something loud enough to match what had been done to me.
Instead, I got another knock at the door.
Three hard strikes.
Garrison immediately closed the binder.
“Stay here.”
“Who is it?”
He did not answer.
He walked through the front room.
I followed several steps behind despite the warning in his eyes.
When he opened the door, Julian stood on the porch.
My husband.
Or technically, still my husband.
His hair was damp from the rain. He wore a charcoal coat over the navy suit I had bought him for our tenth anniversary of knowing each other.
For one second, neither man spoke.
Then Julian smiled.
“Didn’t take you long.”
Garrison remained still.
“Take me long to what?”
“To move my wife into your house.”
“I’m not your wife anymore,” I said.
Julian looked past Garrison.
“There she is.”
Something in his tone made my skin crawl.
“You changed the locks,” I said. “You emptied our account.”
“Our account?” He gave a short laugh. “Most of that money came through my company.”
“My salary went into it every month.”
“And you benefited from my lifestyle every month.”
Garrison’s voice was quiet.
“You need something?”
Julian finally looked at him.
“Yes. I need my wife to stop stealing documents.”
My blood went cold.
“What documents?”
He stepped inside without invitation.
Garrison blocked him with one arm.
Julian’s smile faded.
“I’m not asking permission, Sheriff.”
“Former sheriff.”
“Right. I heard the county encouraged retirement.”
The insult landed harder than Julian expected.
Garrison did not react.
Julian looked at me again.
“I want whatever he gave you.”
I folded the report behind my back.
For the first time since he left, I saw fear in my husband’s eyes.
Not guilt.
Fear.
“You knew,” I said.
Julian’s expression remained flat.
“Knew what?”
“You knew the infertility wasn’t mine.”
The silence answered before he did.
Then he laughed.
Actually laughed.
“Oh, Emma.”
My name sounded small in his mouth.
“You’re going to believe some photocopy from a disgraced cop?”
Garrison’s face remained unreadable.
Julian pointed toward him.
“Ask people why he really left office.”
“I don’t care why he left office.”
“You should.”
Julian leaned closer.
“He gets obsessed. He invents conspiracies. He destroys people and calls it justice.”
“Get out.”
Garrison’s voice had changed.
Julian stopped.
The room went still.
I had never heard Garrison raise his voice.
He still hadn’t.
But the words carried something heavier than shouting.
Julian straightened his coat.
“All right.”
Then he turned to me.
“You have until tomorrow morning to return every document you stole.”
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“You’ll also stop contacting Chloe.”
“I haven’t contacted Chloe.”
His eyes flickered.
Too fast.
Too nervous.
“Good.”
That was when I understood something.
Julian had not come because of the lab report.
Not entirely.
He was afraid I might contact Chloe.
Why?
He backed toward the door.
“One more thing.”
I waited.
“If you try to use fabricated medical records in court, my attorney will bury you.”
“You already tried to bury me.”
His smile vanished.
For one second, I saw the man beneath the charm.
Then he walked into the rain.
Garrison locked the door.
I stood frozen.
“Why doesn’t he want me talking to Chloe?”
Garrison did not answer immediately.
Instead, he returned to the kitchen and opened the binder again.
He removed a photograph.
It showed Julian walking into Bellweather Reproductive Center.
Beside him was a woman.
Blonde.
Young.
I recognized her immediately.
Chloe.
The timestamp at the bottom was eighteen months old.
Long before Julian claimed their affair had begun.
My voice cracked.
“They were together then.”
Garrison shook his head.
“That isn’t the strange part.”
He turned the photograph over.
On the back, someone had written a note in black ink.
CHLOE BENNETT — FERTILITY CONSULTATION.
I stared at him.
“She was being treated?”
“Apparently.”
“But Julian said she got pregnant naturally.”
Garrison’s eyes hardened.
“That’s what we need to find out.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then I answered.
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
A woman’s breathing.
Fast.
Uneven.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a whisper.
“Emma?”
I knew the voice.
Chloe.
“Chloe?”
Garrison looked at me sharply.
Her next words barely came through.
“Julian lied to you.”
I closed my eyes.
“I know.”
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“You don’t understand.”
Behind her, something crashed.
She gasped.
Then she whispered the sentence that changed everything.
May you like
“The baby isn’t his.”
The call disconnected.
