Chapter 4 - THE CHILD BORN IN SILENCE
The operating room lights were painfully bright.
People moved around me in blue gowns and masks.
A nurse held my shoulders while the anesthesiologist explained what would happen.
I understood almost none of it.
All I could hear was the fetal monitor.
Fast.
Then slow.
Then fast again.
“Her blood pressure is dropping.”
“Prepare for surgery.”
Someone asked me to sign a consent form.
My fingers could not hold the pen.
My father signed as my emergency representative.
David had destroyed my phone.
He had refused to call an ambulance.
Yet his name was still listed as my husband.
The thought made me sick.
“Where is he?” I asked.
My father stood near the door.
“In custody.”
“Don’t let him in.”
“He will not come near you.”
The anesthesiologist placed a mask over my face.
“Count backward from ten.”
“Ten.”
“Nine.”
“Eight.”
The room dissolved.
When I opened my eyes again, everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
My father sat beside the bed.
His tie was gone.
His shirt sleeves were rolled up.
There was dried blood on one cuff.
Mine.
I tried to sit up.
Pain pulled through my abdomen.
“The baby.”
He took my hand.
“She was delivered.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
The word broke something inside me.
I began to cry.
“Can I see her?”
“She is in the neonatal intensive care unit.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She was born early.”
“She needs help breathing.”
“But she is alive.”
I covered my face.
My father waited.
When I could finally speak, I asked the question I was afraid to ask.
“Did the push cause it?”
“The doctors believe the trauma triggered placental abruption.”
I stared at him.
“Will she survive?”
“They cannot promise anything yet.”
The door opened.
A woman in a dark suit entered with a hospital administrator.
She introduced herself as Special Agent Rachel Mendoza.
“I’m sorry to speak with you now, Mrs. Whitmore.”
“But we need to preserve evidence.”
My father stood.
“Not until her physician approves.”
The agent nodded.
“We have already obtained the broken phone.”
“We also secured the kitchen.”
“Several guests provided statements.”
I looked toward her.
“What about David?”
“He has not been formally charged yet.”
My father’s expression hardened.
“Why not?”
“The county prosecutor is reviewing jurisdiction and conflicts.”
“Conflicts?”
“David Whitmore has worked with the prosecutor’s office.”
My father stared at her.
“So the delay has already begun.”
Agent Mendoza did not deny it.
She looked at me.
“There is another problem.”
“What?”
“Your husband claims you injured yourself intentionally.”
My father stepped forward.
“That accusation is absurd.”
“It gets worse.”
The agent placed a tablet on the table.
A video showed me falling into the kitchen counter.
But the angle had been altered.
Sylvia was outside the frame.
It looked as though I had stepped backward on my own.
May you like
Agent Mendoza spoke carefully.
“Someone edited the home security footage before deputies arrived.”
