Chapter 6
Sarah called 911.
I called Claire.
Then Rebecca.
For several minutes, I couldn’t stop shaking.
On the camera, Ryan realized Jessica was terrified.
He changed tactics immediately.
“Stop being dramatic.”
That phrase again.
The phrase he used whenever someone got too close to the truth.
Jessica backed toward the door.
“You told me Emily’s doctor changed her medication.”
“He did.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You just asked about medication.”
“Because you mentioned it weeks ago.”
“No.”
Jessica shook her head.
“No, I didn’t.”
Ryan noticed something on the kitchen counter.
The camera.
He stared directly into it.
My stomach dropped.
For two seconds, nobody moved.
Then Ryan lunged forward.
The screen went black.
“He saw it,” I whispered.
Sarah grabbed her phone.
“The recording should still be saved.”
It was.
Every word.
Every movement.
Saved.
Police arrived at my house before Ryan and Jessica could leave.
We watched through Sarah’s front window as flashing lights filled the street.
I wanted to go outside.
Rebecca told me not to.
“Let law enforcement handle the immediate scene,” she said over the phone. “You are recovering from surgery. Do not put yourself in front of him tonight.”
“What about the medication?”
“We need facts before conclusions.”
“What if he did something?”
“Preserve every prescription bottle you have.”
My mind raced backward.
At twenty-nine weeks, I had started having headaches.
My blood pressure increased.
Ryan suddenly became interested in my medicine.
He picked up prescriptions.
Filled my weekly pill organizer.
Brought me water at night.
At the time, I thought he was finally caring again.
Now each memory felt poisonous.
“I threw away the old bottles.”
“Check everything before discarding anything else.”
Sarah went to my house with a police officer the next morning.
They collected the camera.
The kitchen was a mess.
Ryan had knocked the device down.
But the footage had already uploaded.
Jessica gave a statement at the scene.
Ryan refused.
He called his attorney.
By noon, Rebecca had a copy of the incident report.
“No arrest?” I asked.
“Not based solely on last night’s conversation.”
“He grabbed Jessica.”
“She did not ask to pursue an assault complaint.”
“Of course she didn’t.”
“Emily, focus on what we can prove.”
I hated that sentence.
But she was right.
My doctor ordered bloodwork and requested pharmacy records.
I brought every medication container I could find.
Then I visited Noah.
He was improving.
His oxygen levels were better.
He had gained a little weight.
For one hour, I put Ryan out of my head.
The nurse placed Noah against my bare chest.
Skin to skin.
His tiny cheek rested beneath my collarbone.
I cried silently.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
The nurse looked at me.
“For what?”
“For all of this.”
She adjusted Noah’s blanket.
“He doesn’t know any of that.”
I looked down.
“He knows your heartbeat.”
I closed my eyes.
Noah’s breathing softened against me.
My heartbeat.
Not Ryan’s lies.
Not Jessica.
Not Diane.
Mine.
When I returned to Sarah’s house, Megan was waiting.
My younger sister had flown in from Denver that morning.
The second she saw me, she started crying.
Then she hugged me so carefully I almost laughed.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
She pulled back.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“No murders. Rebecca says paperwork only.”
Megan wiped her eyes.
“I always hated him.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I strongly disliked him.”
“You danced with him at our wedding.”
“I was drunk.”
I laughed for the first time in days.
Then Megan’s face became serious.
“Mom knows.”
I froze.
I hadn’t told our mother yet.
My relationship with Mom had been difficult since my father died.
She worried.
I avoided telling her things because her worry became panic.
“How much?”
“Everything except the medication thing.”
“Good.”
“Emily.”
“I’ll tell her when I know more.”
Megan sighed.
“She’s coming tomorrow.”
“Of course she is.”
“And she said something weird.”
“What?”
“She asked if Ryan had ever messed with your medication before.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Megan nodded slowly.
“She said two years ago, when you were trying to get pregnant, you told her Ryan kept pushing you to take some fertility supplement he bought online.”
I remembered.
A bottle of vitamins.
Ryan had ordered them.
He said a coworker recommended them.
I took them for a month, then stopped because they made me nauseated.
“That was different.”
“Maybe.”
“Why would he hurt me before I was pregnant?”
“I didn’t say he did.”
But the question stayed.
Why?
That afternoon, the hospital called.
Jessica wanted to speak to my attorney.
Rebecca agreed.
Not with me.
Not yet.
Three hours later, Rebecca called me.
Her voice was different.
More serious than usual.
“Jessica gave us information.”
“What kind?”
“She admits she accessed your chart at Ryan’s request.”
I closed my eyes.
“She admits it?”
“Yes.”
“Why did he want it?”
“Several reasons.”
Rebecca paused.
“He wanted to monitor your pregnancy timeline. He wanted to know when your doctor might order bed rest. He wanted to know your insurance coverage. And he wanted copies of medical information he could use in a custody case.”
“He planned the custody case before Noah was born?”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“But Jessica says she never agreed to fabricate records. She claims Ryan did that separately.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I believe parts of what she said are independently verifiable.”
“What about my medication?”
Another pause.
“She says Ryan asked several questions about your prescriptions.”
I gripped my phone.
“What questions?”
“Whether certain medications could affect pregnancy complications.”
The room went cold.
“Which medications?”
“She doesn’t remember.”
“She’s a nurse.”
“She says he asked casually and she didn’t think much of it at the time.”
“How convenient.”
“I understand.”
“No, I don’t think anyone understands.”
I stood too quickly.
Pain shot across my incision.
Megan grabbed my arm.
“Sit.”
I sat.
Rebecca continued.
“Jessica also says Ryan told her he needed the divorce to happen before Noah was born because after the birth, he would have more financial obligations.”
I stared at the wall.
Money.
Of course.
“What financial obligations?”
“Child support. Medical costs. Possibly other things.”
“But then why fight for custody?”
“Custody can affect support. It can also be used as leverage.”
I closed my eyes.
Noah was leverage.
My child was a number in Ryan’s calculations.
“Is there more?”
“Yes.”
I almost didn’t ask.
“What?”
“Jessica says the seventy-one thousand dollars Ryan transferred wasn’t meant for an apartment.”
“Then what was it for?”
“She believes Ryan has significant debt.”
That surprised me.
“What debt?”
“She doesn’t know the exact amount.”
“We had no debt except the mortgage.”
“You had no debt that you knew about.”
A cold feeling spread through me.
Rebecca said, “I’m requesting complete financial disclosure.”
After we hung up, Megan and I searched.
Old mail.
Emails.
Anything Ryan might have left accessible in our shared household files.
Most of it was ordinary.
Utility bills.
Insurance.
Mortgage statements.
Then Sarah remembered the locked drawer in Ryan’s office.
The police had already documented the house.
Rebecca told me I was allowed to access shared property in my own home, but warned me not to destroy anything.
Megan came with me.
Inside Ryan’s desk were business cards, receipts, and an old tablet.
The tablet turned on without a password.
It synced to an email account I had never seen.
I stopped.
“Should I open this?”
Megan said, “Call Rebecca.”
We did.
Rebecca told us not to go digging through accounts that might be legally protected or password-restricted.
But visible downloaded files on a jointly owned device could be preserved.
We photographed the screen.
One PDF had a title that made my stomach drop.
LOAN AGREEMENT.
Another.
PAYMENT DEMAND.
Another.
SPORTSWAGER ACCOUNT SUMMARY.
Megan whispered, “Sports betting?”
I stared.
Ryan loved football.
He gambled sometimes.
Twenty dollars here.
Fifty there.
At least that was what he told me.
The downloaded summary told another story.
Losses.
$8,400.
$12,700.
$6,900.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Over two years, there were tens of thousands.
Possibly more.
No wonder the savings disappeared.
No wonder Ryan needed money.
No wonder he was preparing another life.
But one document mattered more than all the others.
A loan agreement for $95,000.
Borrower: Ryan Walker.
Lender: Thomas Walker.
Ryan’s father.
I stared at the name.
Thomas had supposedly been out of Ryan’s life for fifteen years.
Diane claimed he abandoned the family.
Ryan said he never spoke to him.
Yet the agreement was dated eight months earlier.
The same month I became pregnant.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
If payment not received by October 1, collateral transfer will proceed.
Collateral.
I scrolled down.
My blood froze.
Ryan had listed an asset.
The house.
Our house.
My house.
The property I had helped pay for since the day we bought it.
And beside the description was something even worse.
A signature.
My name.
May you like
Emily Walker.
Except I had never signed it.
