Chapter 2: The Paperwork He Signed
"Dr. Patel, what is that?""
My voice sounded unfamiliar.
She glanced at the folder, then back at me.
"It's a copy of a document your husband requested we keep with his hospital records.""
"Why would my husband have hospital records?""
"That's what I was hoping you could help me understand.""
She turned the paper toward me.
At the top was the name of a legal document.
*Parental Authorization and Temporary Custody Instructions.*
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
"I don't understand.""
Dr. Patel pointed to a paragraph near the bottom.
"Your husband asked about arrangements for the babies if you were unable to care for them following delivery.""
I stared at her.
"Unable to care for them?""
"He told our social worker that he was concerned about your emotional stability.""
I actually laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the sentence was so absurd that my brain couldn't accept it.
"My emotional stability?""
Dr. Patel nodded carefully.
"He described you as overwhelmed, increasingly anxious, and potentially unable to make decisions concerning the children.""
I felt something cold move through my chest.
"Wes said that?""
"Yes.""
I shook my head.
"That's not true. I've been seeing a therapist because fertility treatments were difficult, but I'm fine. He came to every appointment. He knows that.""
Dr. Patel didn't interrupt.
"He wanted these babies as much as I did," I continued.
"He painted their nursery. He picked their names. He bought two identical little stuffed rabbits.""
My voice broke.
"Why would he say those things?""
Dr. Patel turned another page.
"There's something else.""
I looked down.
The document listed a woman as the proposed temporary caregiver.
My mother-in-law.
Margaret.
I felt my fingers tighten around the bedsheet.
"His mother?""
"Yes.""
Margaret had never liked me.
When Wes and I first got married, she'd made little comments about my cooking, my clothes, and even the way I decorated our house.
But I'd always tried.
Every Thanksgiving, I brought her favorite pie. Every Christmas, I bought thoughtful gifts. When she underwent knee surgery two years earlier, I spent three weeks driving her to physical therapy.
She thanked me by telling Wes that I was making him choose between his mother and his wife.
Still, I never imagined she would be involved in something like this.
"Did she come here?"" I asked.
Dr. Patel hesitated.
"She was here this morning.""
My heart skipped.
"Before the surgery?""
"Yes. She spoke with your husband in the waiting area.""
"What did they say?""
"I wasn't present for that conversation.""
I stared at the document.
"Was she with him when he left?""
Dr. Patel nodded.
I closed my eyes.
For ten years, I had imagined the day I would become a mother.
I had imagined Wes holding my hand while we counted ten fingers and ten toes.
I had imagined calling our families and hearing everyone celebrate.
Instead, my husband had apparently arranged for his mother to become the children's caregiver while I was unconscious.
"Can I see my daughters?"" I whispered.
Dr. Patel's expression softened.
"Of course.""
"Please.""
She stood.
"I'll have the nurse bring them.""
When she reached the door, I called her name.
"Dr. Patel?""
She turned.
"Did my husband say anything else?""
She looked uncomfortable.
"He asked whether you had regained consciousness.""
I swallowed.
"And?""
"He asked us not to contact him unless there was a medical emergency involving the babies.""
The room seemed to tilt.
"He didn't ask about me?""
Dr. Patel said nothing.
That silence was worse than any answer.
A nurse named Rachel arrived twenty minutes later, pushing a small bassinet.
Inside were two tiny girls wrapped in pink blankets.
Emma.
Lily.
Their names were printed on little identification bands.
I reached out with trembling fingers.
"Hello, my angels.""
Emma made a tiny noise.
Lily stretched her fingers against the blanket.
I cried as Rachel carefully placed Emma against my chest, then helped me hold Lily beside her.
For a few minutes, I forgot about Wes.
I forgot about the papers.
I forgot that the man who had promised to love me forever had walked out of the hospital.
There were only my daughters.
Two warm, beautiful little people who had fought their way into the world.
"You're safe," I whispered.
"Mommy's here.""
Rachel smiled.
"They're lucky to have you.""
I looked up.
"Has anyone tried to take them?""
Rachel's smile faded.
"No, sweetheart. They're still under the hospital's care.""
"But the paperwork—"
"That document doesn't automatically give anyone custody. The hospital has to follow the appropriate legal and safeguarding procedures.""
I held my daughters closer.
"Please don't let anyone take them.""
Rachel gently touched my shoulder.
"We won't make any decisions without the proper process.""
After she left, I stared at my phone.
There were three missed calls from my sister, Claire.
I called her immediately.
She answered on the first ring.
"Holly! Oh my God. Are the babies here? Are you okay?""
"They're here.""
"Two girls! I can't believe it. Is Wes with you?""
I couldn't answer.
"Holly?""
"He left.""
Silence.
"What do you mean, he left?""
"He walked out of the hospital.""
"That's impossible.""
"I saw the paperwork, Claire.""
"What paperwork?""
I explained everything.
The custody instructions.
Margaret.
The allegations about my emotional stability.
By the time I finished, Claire was breathing heavily.
"I'm coming.""
"Claire, wait—"
"No. I'm coming right now.""
She arrived less than an hour later, carrying a bag of toiletries and a box of chocolates.
The moment she saw my face, she dropped the bag.
"Oh, Holly.""
She wrapped her arms around me carefully.
I started sobbing.
"I don't understand what I did.""
"You didn't do anything.""
"He left while I was unconscious, Claire. While I was having his children.""
She pulled back and looked at me.
"Did he actually sign something?""
I nodded.
She took the document Dr. Patel had left with me and read it.
Her expression changed.
"Who prepared this?""
"I don't know.""
Claire reached the bottom of the page.
Then she stopped.
"Holly?""
"What?""
She pointed to a date.
"Look at when this was signed.""
I leaned forward.
The date was six weeks earlier.
Six weeks before my C-section.
Six weeks before Wes kissed my forehead and promised he'd be waiting.
Six weeks before I gave birth to our daughters.
And beneath the date was a witness signature.
I recognized it immediately.
It belonged to our family attorney, Daniel Price.
The same attorney who had handled our house purchase, our wills, and every major legal document in our marriage.
I stared at the name.
"Daniel?""
Claire frowned.
"You know him?""
"He's our lawyer.""
She turned another page.
There was a handwritten note attached to the back.
It read:
Please ensure all arrangements are finalized before the expected delivery date. Margaret is aware of the proposed transition.
Claire looked at me.
"Transition?""
My phone suddenly vibrated.
An unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a message appeared.
*Holly, this is Daniel Price. I need to speak with you before Margaret arrives tomorrow. There are things your husband never told you.*
I read it twice.
May you like
Before I could respond, another message appeared.
*Whatever you do, do not sign anything your mother-in-law gives you.*
