Chapter 6 - No Safe Address.
Grace Holloway did not sound surprised that Derek had found her number.
That frightened me more than surprise would have.
“People who are losing control often become very resourceful,” she said.
“What should I do?”
“Nothing alone.”
The words were simple, but they landed heavily.
For years, I had handled everything alone because Derek made asking for help feel like a confession of weakness.
Now a stranger was telling me that doing things alone was exactly what I should stop doing.
Grace asked Tessa to stay in the room while we spoke.
She explained the emergency protection-order process in plain language.
We would document the hospital admission, the police report, Derek’s attempt to come upstairs, his calls, and the fact that he had contacted her without my permission.
She also wanted screenshots of every message my parents had sent about the bank.
“Why the messages from my parents?” I asked.
“Because context matters.”
“They’re not the ones who hurt me.”
Grace paused.
“They brought him to the hospital after you asked for safety.”
I had no answer to that.
She continued.
“And if they are pressuring you to sign financial documents while you are hospitalized, I want that documented separately.”
I looked toward the sealed evidence bag on the counter.
“What about the replacement guarantee?”
“Keep it with the police and bank investigator.”
“Can they really expect me to sign something like that from here?”
“They can expect whatever they want.”
“You do not have to comply.”
That sentence felt like a key turning in a lock.
Grace told me the court could review an emergency request that afternoon.
I would not have to leave the hospital.
She could appear for me and submit my sworn statement electronically.
I signed the statement at 6:12 p.m.
This signature looked nothing like the image copied onto the bank form.
Mine was shaky.
Uneven.
Real.
At 6:40, my contractions had almost stopped.
The obstetric resident said the baby remained stable, but she wanted me monitored overnight.
I felt relieved until she added that stress could bring the contractions back.
Leah glanced at my phone as if it were a dangerous appliance.
“We’re keeping that thing quiet.”
I agreed.
She ordered soup from the cafeteria and sat beside me while I forced down half of it.
Then we began making a list of what I needed from the apartment.
Identification.
Laptop.
Work files.
Maternity clothes.
Prenatal vitamins.
Baby documents.
The small box containing my grandmother’s jewelry.
My emergency-account records.
I stopped writing when I reached the nursery.
Everything for the baby was there.
The bassinet.
Diapers.
Tiny sleepers folded in the second drawer.
The yellow blanket I had washed three times because I liked how soft it became.
I had spent months preparing a room inside a home I could no longer safely enter alone.
Leah took the pen from me.
“We’ll get it.”
“How?”
“With the police if we have to.”
“Derek will make a scene.”
“Then let him make it in front of witnesses.”
I almost smiled.
Leah had always been better at refusing shame than I was.
At 7:15, Tessa returned with information about a confidential transitional apartment program for pregnant women leaving unsafe homes.
The location would not appear on my discharge papers in any form Derek could access.
I could stay there for several weeks while arranging something permanent.
I stared at the brochure.
A small furnished apartment.
Secure entrance.
Transportation to medical appointments.
Counseling available if I wanted it.
It was not the blue-quilted room at my parents’ house.
It was better.
It did not come with a mortgage attached to my obedience.
“I want it,” I said.
Tessa nodded.
“I’ll make the referral.”
At 7:42, Grace called back.
“The judge signed the temporary order.”
I closed my eyes.
“What does it say?”
“Derek may not contact you directly or indirectly.”
“He must stay away from the hospital, your temporary residence, and your workplace.”
“He may not use third parties to communicate with you.”
“My parents?”
“If they contact you on his behalf, document it.”
“What happens next?”
“There will be a hearing in several days.”
“Will I have to see him?”
“Possibly by video, depending on your medical status.”
My stomach tightened again.
Grace heard the change in my breathing.
“You don’t have to solve the hearing tonight.”
“All you need to do tonight is remain safe.”
After the call, I slept for forty minutes.
I woke because Leah was speaking softly near the door.
“No, she can’t take calls right now.”
I opened my eyes.
She turned and saw me.
“Who is it?”
Leah covered the phone.
“Your aunt Karen.”
“My mother’s sister?”
“Yes.”
“What does she want?”
“To tell you that your mom is devastated and that the family thinks you should fix the house situation before dealing with your marriage.”
I stared at her.
“The family thinks?”
“Apparently there has already been a group conversation.”
Of course there had.
My mother hated losing control of a story almost as much as she hated losing control of a closing.
I held out my hand.
“Give me the phone.”
Leah hesitated.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I took it.
“Aunt Karen?”
“Oh, Emily, thank God.”
Her relief sounded almost sincere.
“Your mother is beside herself.”
“I’m in the hospital.”
“I know, honey, and everyone is worried about you.”
“No one has asked me how the baby is.”
Silence.
Then she said, “Your mother said the doctors told her you were fine.”
“My mother hasn’t spoken to a doctor.”
Another silence.
“She said Derek told her.”
I felt cold all over again.
Derek was still feeding my parents information.
Or what he wanted them to believe was information.
“Aunt Karen, I need you to listen carefully.”
“All right.”
“I withdrew my guarantee because I am no longer willing to risk my finances for people who refused me a safe place while I was hospitalized.”
“Emily—”
“I’m not finished.”
She stopped.
“The bank also found a document using my signature to pledge my private savings without my permission.”
Karen said nothing.
“The bank is investigating it.”
“Are you saying your parents forged something?”
“I’m saying I did not sign it.”
Her voice dropped.
“Your mother did mention an asset form.”
My pulse jumped.
“When?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“What did she say?”
“She said the bank wanted extra proof and Derek was helping them with the paperwork.”
Leah’s eyes widened.
I gripped the phone tighter.
“Derek was helping them?”
“That’s what she said.”
I looked at Tessa, who had entered quietly and was now listening from the doorway.
“What exactly did she say?”
Karen hesitated.
“Emily, I don’t want to get in the middle.”
“You’re already in the middle.”
Another pause.
“She said Derek knew how to access the documents because you had signed similar forms before.”
My mouth went dry.
“Did she say he had my permission?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
Family silence had been doing Derek favors long before the hospital.
“Aunt Karen, I need you to text me exactly what you remember.”
“Why?”
“Because this is no longer family gossip.”
“It is evidence.”
She inhaled sharply.
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s your choice.”
I handed the phone back to Leah.
My hands were shaking again.
Tessa said, “That sounded important.”
“It was.”
I told her what Karen had said.
She immediately suggested forwarding it to Grace and the bank investigator.
At 9:03, Karen sent a message.
She did not call.
She did not apologize.
She simply wrote what she remembered.
Diane told me three weeks ago that Derek was helping with your mortgage guarantee paperwork because he had access to old forms you signed.
She said the bank was being difficult about assets.
I did not know you had not agreed.
I forwarded it to Grace.
Then to Melissa Tran.
Five minutes later, Melissa called.
“This is useful,” she said.
“Can you tell whether Derek logged into the portal?”
“We’re working on that.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Nothing tonight.”
Then she paused.
“Actually, there is one question.”
“What?”
“Did your husband ever use your parents’ computer?”
“All the time.”
“Why?”
“He helped my dad set up online banking.”
I heard Melissa type.
“And does your husband own a laptop?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
I described it.
She was quiet for several seconds.
“Ms. Carter, the supplemental document was uploaded from a device identified in the portal records as a MacBook Pro.”
My father used a Windows desktop.
My mother used an iPad.
Derek owned the only MacBook Pro in the family.
The room seemed to tilt slightly.
I had spent the night believing my parents might have stolen my signature.
Now the evidence pointed toward my husband.
But that did not make my parents innocent.
May you like
Because according to Aunt Karen, my mother knew he was “helping.”
And she had never once asked whether I had agreed.
