Chapter 3 - THE EMAIL I WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO SEEI left the reception shortly after dinner.
I told Felicity I had an early shift the next morning, which was technically true. I had traded shifts with a colleague, but I no longer wanted to spend another hour pretending everything was fine.
Outside, the air was cool.
I sat in my car and rested my forehead against the steering wheel.
For years, I had convinced myself that my family's treatment of me was ordinary. Some families were complicated. Some siblings competed. Some parents struggled to understand adult children.
I had built explanations around every insult.
Felicity was under pressure.
Dad didn't like conflict.
My stepmother, Diane, was protective of her daughter.
I was too sensitive.
But Silas's question had exposed something I could no longer ignore.
Why hadn't I heard about the nomination?
The next morning, after a difficult shift, I opened my laptop and searched my email for the hospital award.
Nothing.
I searched my spam folder.
Nothing.
Then I contacted the hospital's professional development coordinator.
Her name was Marissa, and she had always treated me with respect.
“Jenna,” she said when she called back, “I'm glad you reached out. Your nomination was one of the strongest submissions we received that year.”
“Was I supposed to be notified?”
“Absolutely. The foundation requested an interview with you, but we never received a response.”
My stomach tightened.
“What address did they use?”
Marissa read it aloud.
It was an old email address I had stopped using three years earlier.
“I gave the hospital my current address,” I said. “It's in my employee records.”
“That makes this even stranger. The foundation sent a second notification to the contact address listed on the nomination form.”
“Who submitted the form?”
“Your department supervisor.”
I took a breath.
“Could you send me a copy of the nomination and the correspondence? I want to understand what happened.”
“Of course. I'll forward the records we have.”
An hour later, the documents arrived.
The nomination itself was accurate. It described my work during Daniel's emergency, my contributions to the trauma unit, and several other incidents in which I had helped coordinate care during critical situations.
Then I opened the correspondence.
The first message confirmed the nomination.
The second requested my preferred contact information.
The third stated that the foundation had been unable to reach me.
Attached was a note indicating that a family contact had provided an alternative email address.
My heart began to pound.
The alternative address belonged to Felicity.
I stared at the screen until the letters blurred.
Why would my sister have been listed as my contact?
I had never authorized it.
I called Marissa back.
“Did the foundation contact my family directly?”
“Not according to our records. The address appears in the external correspondence, but I can't tell you who provided it. You'd need to ask the foundation.”
I thanked her and ended the call.
Then I noticed another attachment.
It was an email chain between the foundation's administrative office and someone using my name.
The message read:
Thank you for considering me, but I prefer not to participate in public recognition events. Please withdraw my nomination.
The signature said Jenna Carter.
But I had never written those words.
My hands went cold.
I checked the date.
The email had been sent from an account I didn't recognize, using my full name.
Someone had impersonated me.
I sat motionless, hearing the distant hum of traffic outside my apartment.
Then my phone rang.
Felicity.
I almost let it go to voicemail.
Instead, I answered.
“Why are you looking into that award?” she demanded.
There was no greeting.
No question about how I was feeling.
No apology for the previous evening.
Just anger.
I stared at the email on my laptop.
“How did you know I was looking into it?”
Silence.
May you like
Then she said, “You have no idea what you're getting yourself into.”
And for the first time, my sister sounded afraid.
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