Chapter 4 - What Was in My Body
Dr. Naomi Pierce met us at Cedar Hollow Medical Center before sunrise.
Rebecca had called her because she specialized in reproductive endocrinology and had no connection to Bellweather.
I sat on the examination table wearing borrowed clothes from Garrison’s late wife.
Chloe sat in a chair beside the window.
Garrison remained outside.
Dr. Pierce read the printed medication records slowly.
Her face gave nothing away.
That frightened me more than shock would have.
Finally, she placed the papers down.
“Emma, I want to be extremely careful.”
“Okay.”
“This medication can interfere with implantation in certain circumstances.”
My mouth went dry.
“Could it cause miscarriage?”
“It can increase risk depending on timing, dosage, and other factors.”
I stopped hearing everything else.
Six years.
Three confirmed pregnancies.
Three losses.
The first at five weeks.
The second before six.
The third at seven weeks and two days.
Julian had held me while I screamed into a hospital pillow after the last one.
I remembered his arms.
His voice.
We’ll try again.
My stomach twisted.
“Was this medication ever prescribed to me legitimately?”
Dr. Pierce studied the chart.
“I can’t answer that without your complete records.”
“I never remember taking it.”
“It may have been administered during treatment.”
“How?”
“Injection. Infusion. There are several possibilities.”
Chloe turned white.
“Oh my God.”
Dr. Pierce raised one hand.
“Please understand that a suspicious record is not proof that anyone deliberately harmed a pregnancy.”
“But it could have.”
“Yes.”
I gripped the edge of the table.
“Can you test me now?”
“For past exposure from years ago? Not reliably.”
“So there’s no proof.”
“There may be records. Pharmacy logs. Medication administration records. Billing codes.”
Rebecca, standing near the door, immediately wrote something down.
“Can those be subpoenaed?”
“If they still exist.”
Garrison’s voice came from the hallway.
“They exist.”
Everyone looked toward him.
He stepped inside.
Rebecca frowned.
“How do you know?”
“Bellweather’s archived servers were seized during the Hale investigation.”
My heartbeat changed.
“Where are they?”
“State evidence storage.”
Rebecca stared at him.
“You told me that investigation collapsed.”
“It did.”
“Then why is evidence still stored?”
“Because Hale disappeared during an active criminal inquiry.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“What aren’t you telling us?”
Garrison glanced toward me.
“A lot.”
I climbed off the examination table.
“Then start.”
He looked older suddenly.
“There were three women connected to Bellweather who reported unusual reproductive complications.”
My blood ran cold.
“What complications?”
“Repeated miscarriages after apparently normal cycles.”
I could barely speak.
“Were they married to men who had fertility problems?”
He nodded.
Chloe covered her mouth.
Rebecca said, “You suspected someone was falsifying records.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the husbands were all wealthy or connected.”
“To whom?”
Garrison hesitated.
Then he said the name.
“Mercer Holdings.”
Julian’s company.
My knees weakened.
Rebecca caught my arm.
“Julian’s company?”
Garrison nodded.
“At the time, Julian worked under his father, Charles Mercer. Mercer Holdings provided private insurance management and executive medical services to several local companies.”
I stared at him.
“His father knew?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Julian?”
“I believed he did.”
“You believed?”
“I couldn’t prove it.”
“Because Hale disappeared.”
“Yes.”
I felt fury rising now.
Not the wild kind.
Something cleaner.
Sharper.
“Get the servers.”
Rebecca spoke before Garrison could answer.
“I can file for preservation and discovery, but criminal evidence requires a different process.”
“Then call whoever handles it.”
Garrison looked at me.
“You’re asking to reopen something powerful people spent years keeping closed.”
“I spent six years thinking my body killed my children.”
The room went silent.
I stepped closer.
“If Julian did this, I want every door opened.”
Garrison nodded.
“All right.”
By noon, Rebecca had filed emergency motions regarding marital assets.
By three, a judge ordered Julian not to move additional funds.
At 4:20, the court froze three accounts.
At 4:37, Julian called.
I let it ring.
Then a voicemail arrived.
You have no idea what you’re doing.
At 5:02, another.
Tell Blackwood to stay out of this.
At 5:15:
You’re making a mistake you can’t undo.
I played that one for Rebecca.
She smiled without humor.
“Keep sending those, Julian.”
That evening, Chloe moved into a protected room at a small inn outside town.
She refused to return to Julian.
Before leaving, she hugged me.
At first, I did not hug her back.
Then I remembered her standing barefoot in the rain.
I put my arms around her.
“I helped him hurt you,” she whispered.
“You believed a liar.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No.”
She pulled away.
“I want to testify.”
“Then testify.”
Her eyes filled.
“Even if it destroys me?”
I thought of every woman who had been told silence was safer.
“Especially then.”
That night, Garrison and I returned to his farmhouse.
We barely spoke.
At eleven, he made coffee.
I sat across from him.
“You had a daughter.”
His hand stopped.
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
He looked toward the dark window.
“She died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She was twenty-three.”
My chest tightened.
“Accident?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
I waited.
Finally he said, “She was investigating Bellweather.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Her name was Sarah.”
His voice roughened.
“She was a nursing student. She helped me organize medical terminology from the records.”
My skin prickled.
“She found something?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Proof that someone had altered medication orders.”
My stomach twisted.
“The same kind of orders as mine?”
He nodded.
“What happened to her?”
“Officially?”
His eyes met mine.
“Car accident.”
“And unofficially?”
“I never believed it.”
The clock above the door ticked.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
“Did Julian know her?”
Garrison did not answer.
That was answer enough.
I stood.
“Did Julian know your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Garrison opened the old binder.
From the back pocket, he removed a photograph.
Sarah Blackwood stood outside Bellweather Reproductive Center.
Beside her was a younger Julian.
They were arguing.
The date was two days before Sarah died.
My breath caught.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because grief made me reckless once.”
“And now?”
“Now you’re involved.”
“I was already involved.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
A car horn sounded outside.
Once.
Then twice.
Garrison stood instantly.
He turned off the kitchen light.
“What is it?”
“Stay away from the window.”
Another horn.
Then headlights disappeared.
We waited.
Nothing.
Finally, Garrison stepped outside.
I followed despite his glare.
A cardboard box sat beside his mailbox.
Inside was an old photograph.
Sarah.
Someone had drawn a black X over her face.
Beneath it was a note.
YOU LOST ONE WOMAN ALREADY.
DON’T LOSE ANOTHER.
Garrison went completely still.
I looked toward the empty road.
For the first time, this was no longer only about my divorce.
May you like
Someone knew we were reopening the past.
And they were willing to remind Garrison exactly what it had cost him the first time.
