Chapter 8 - What the Doctor Found.
For the next four days, I tried to live like my life was not an active investigation.
I failed.
Every time a car slowed near the house, Mark checked the camera.
Every time my phone buzzed, my heart rate jumped.
Every time my daughter went quiet for more than a few minutes, I stopped whatever I was doing and waited for movement.
Dr. Patel asked me to return for an additional ultrasound on Thursday morning.
Mark took the day off work without asking me.
“You don’t have to keep doing that,” I told him in the car.
“Yes, I do.”
“You have meetings.”
“They can survive.”
“You’re going to run out of vacation days.”
“I’ll buy more.”
“That’s not how vacation days work.”
“It should be.”
His attempt at humor helped.
We arrived fifteen minutes early.
The waiting room was nearly empty.
I chose a chair in the corner where I could see both doors.
I hated that I noticed things like that now.
A nurse called my name.
The ultrasound technician spent nearly forty minutes measuring the baby’s head, abdomen, limbs, fluid levels, and blood flow.
She did not say much.
That silence frightened me.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“I’m just getting complete measurements.”
“Is her heart rate okay?”
“Yes.”
“Is she moving?”
“Yes.”
Mark squeezed my hand.
The technician finished and said Dr. Patel would speak with us.
We waited in an exam room.
Five minutes became ten.
Ten became twenty.
By the time Dr. Patel walked in, my palms were damp.
She sat instead of standing.
That made me more afraid.
“The baby looks good today,” she said first.
I exhaled so hard my shoulders dropped.
“Growth is appropriate.”
“Fluid looks normal.”
“Placental blood flow is reassuring.”
Mark nodded slowly.
“But?”
Dr. Patel looked at him.
“There is no major but.”
I almost laughed from relief.
“Then why are you sitting like that?”
“Because I want to talk about something in your lab work from the hospital.”
My relief vanished again.
“What?”
“One of the toxicology screens showed a trace level of a sedating antihistamine.”
I blinked.
“What does that mean?”
“It is a medication found in some over-the-counter sleep aids and allergy products.”
“I don’t take sleep aids.”
“Any nighttime cold medicine?”
“No.”
“Anything for allergies?”
“No.”
Dr. Patel checked the chart.
“The level was low.”
“Could it hurt the baby?”
“At that level, I am not telling you it caused harm.”
She emphasized every word carefully.
“But because you told us you had not taken medication, I wanted to confirm.”
Mark looked at me.
I tried to remember the day of the gym incident.
Breakfast at home.
Tea.
A sandwich at noon.
Then Jane arrived with iced drinks from a cafe near her apartment.
My stomach tightened.
“Jane brought me a smoothie.”
Dr. Patel’s expression changed slightly.
“When?”
“About an hour before she kicked me.”
“Did you finish it?”
“Maybe half.”
Mark’s face went pale.
“Sarah.”
“I didn’t feel sleepy.”
“Did you feel anything unusual?” Dr. Patel asked.
I thought back.
“I felt a little lightheaded in the kitchen.”
“You told me you were tired,” Mark said.
“I thought I was.”
Dr. Patel raised a hand.
“I need to be very careful here.”
She looked at both of us.
“A trace medication result does not prove anyone put anything in your drink.”
“It could come from a product you forgot taking, cross-reactivity in a screening test, or another benign explanation.”
“We can order a confirmatory test if the retained sample is available.”
Mark’s voice was tight.
“Do it.”
She nodded.
“I already requested it.”
I pressed my hands together.
“What should I tell police?”
“Tell them exactly what I told you.”
“Not more.”
“Not less.”
We called Detective Shah from the parking lot.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked one question.
“Do you still have the smoothie cup?”
“No.”
“Where did it go?”
“Trash.”
“Which trash?”
I looked at Mark.
“Kitchen.”
He frowned.
“Trash pickup was Tuesday.”
It was Thursday.
The cup was long gone.
Detective Shah did not sound surprised.
“We’ll wait for the confirmatory result.”
“Do you think Jane drugged me?”
“I think it would be irresponsible to say that based on what we have.”
I appreciated her restraint even though I wanted certainty.
By Friday afternoon, the confirmatory test came back.
The medication was real.
The level was still low.
Dr. Patel repeated that it did not establish how it entered my system.
Detective Shah obtained a warrant for Jane’s phone records and location history.
That was when the investigation shifted again.
Jane had stopped at a pharmacy forty minutes before arriving at our house.
The purchase receipt showed gum, bottled water, and an over-the-counter nighttime allergy product containing the same medication class found in my blood.
I sat at the dining room table while Detective Shah explained this.
“That can’t be coincidence.”
“It can be,” she said.
“But it’s relevant.”
“Did she buy the smoothie after?”
“Yes.”
Mark stood by the window with his arms folded.
“Did she open the bottle?”
“We don’t know.”
“Can you test it?”
“If we recover it.”
“From where?”
“Her apartment.”
I stared at the detective.
“You searched her apartment?”
“We executed a warrant this morning related to the financial case.”
My heart began to race.
“What did you find?”
“I can’t give you the full inventory yet.”
“Priya.”
She looked at me.
“There was an opened package of the medication.”
Mark swore softly.
“There were also printed copies of your trust summary.”
I felt cold.
“And?”
The detective hesitated.
“Sarah, there was a note.”
“What kind of note?”
“A handwritten list.”
She opened her notebook and read from it.
Saturday.
Get signature.
Keep calm.
If she refuses, Dad handles delay.
I stopped breathing for a second.
“Dad handles delay.”
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“We don’t know.”
“Was the kick the delay?”
“We don’t know.”
Then Detective Shah turned the page.
“There was one more line.”
I waited.
It was written beneath the others and underlined twice.
Do not let Mark see the papers.
Mark looked at me.
That explained why Jane had wanted the conversation private.
It explained why she became more agitated when he stayed in the gym.
But it still did not explain the medication.
That answer came two hours later.
Melissa called me directly for the first time.
Her voice was shaking.
“Sarah, I need to tell you something before the police find out another way.”
“What?”
“I was at Aunt Linda’s house the night before Jane came to yours.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Okay.”
“I heard Jane arguing with your dad in the garage.”
“About what?”
“She said you would never sign if Mark was there.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did Dad say?”
May you like
Melissa started crying.
“He said, ‘Then make sure she’s too tired to fight with you.’”
