PART 3
My heart dropped.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t want to speculate.”
Sophie turned her head toward me.
“Mom?”
I leaned down.
“I’m here.”
“Am I pregnant?”
I swallowed.
“We’re going to find out.”
“But everybody keeps looking at me like I did something bad.”
“You didn’t.”
“Then why is Dad yelling at Mr. Daniel?”
I didn’t have an answer.
Because I was asking myself the same question.
Eric had never trusted Daniel.
Not completely.
I’d told myself it was because Eric had never accepted our divorce.
But now, sitting in that dark room beside my ten-year-old daughter, another possibility entered my mind.
Maybe Eric knew something I didn’t.
The door opened.
A woman in a white coat stepped inside.
“I’m Dr. Patel, the radiologist.”
She pulled the stool closer to the monitor.
“I’ve reviewed the images.”
I felt Sophie squeeze my hand.
“And?”
Dr. Patel looked at me carefully.
“There is no pregnancy.”
I nearly collapsed against the bed.
“What?”
“There is no gestational sac. No embryo. No evidence of a pregnancy.”
Sophie blinked.
“Then why did the test say yes?”
Dr. Patel looked toward me.
“That is exactly what we need to determine.”
My relief lasted approximately three seconds.
Because Dr. Patel continued.
“Sophie does have an unusually elevated beta-hCG level.”
I stared at her.
“What causes that?”
“There are several possibilities. Some are harmless. Some aren’t.”
The room seemed to shrink around me.
“Like what?”
Dr. Patel hesitated.
“Certain ovarian conditions can produce hCG. Some rare tumors can as well. There are also laboratory and medication-related explanations.”
I felt sick.
“You think my daughter has a tumor?”
“No. I’m saying we haven’t identified the cause yet.”
Sophie began crying.
“I don’t want to die.”
I immediately pulled her into my arms.
“You’re not dying.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t. But we’re going to find out.”
Dr. Patel left to arrange additional imaging.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then Sophie whispered something that made every hair on my arms stand up.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Anything.”
She stared at the ceiling.
“Please don’t tell Dad.”
My heart stopped.
“Which dad?”
“Eric.”
I slowly sat beside her.
“What don’t you want him to know?”
She looked toward the door.
“He said I shouldn’t talk about it.”
My mouth went dry.
“Who said?”
Sophie didn’t answer.
I lowered my voice.
“Sophie, sweetheart, I need you to tell me.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“It was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before today.”
My hands became cold.
“Before the hospital?”
She nodded.
“Who told you not to talk?”
She looked directly at me.
“Dad.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
Eric.
My ex-husband.
Sophie had called him Dad since she was four.
He wasn’t her biological father, but he had always insisted that biology didn’t matter.
He had fought for joint custody after our divorce.
He attended school plays.
He helped with homework.
He took her camping.
He knew her favorite cereal and the name of her stuffed rabbit.
He was the man who had just pointed at Daniel and demanded his arrest.
And now my daughter was telling me that Eric had warned her to keep a secret.
“What did he tell you not to talk about?”
Sophie squeezed her eyes shut.
“He said if I told you, you’d get scared.”
“What would make me scared?”
“He said something happened at his house.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do know something.”
She began shaking.
“Mom, I didn’t understand.”
“That’s okay.”
“He told me I had to promise.”
“What did you promise?”
“That I wouldn’t tell you about the medicine.”
I stared at her.
“What medicine?”
Sophie pointed toward her backpack.
“The pink one.”
I immediately remembered it.
The little bottle of vitamins Eric had brought over three weeks earlier.
He had said they were children’s vitamins because Sophie had been tired.
I’d never questioned it.
Why would I?
He was her father.
At least, that’s what I had believed.
I stood up.
“Where is the bottle?”
“In my backpack.”
I grabbed it.
My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped it.
I opened the backpack.
A pink plastic bottle rolled out.
The label looked ordinary.
Children’s multivitamin.
I picked it up.
Then I noticed something strange.
The safety seal had already been broken.
And the label looked slightly crooked.
I turned it over.
There was no pharmacy sticker.
No manufacturer information.
No lot number.
Nothing.
Only a handwritten black marker:
S-10
My stomach turned.
“What is this?”
Sophie whispered, “Dad said it was medicine to help me grow.”
I stared at the bottle.
Then I heard a knock.
A nurse entered.
“Mrs. Morgan?”
“Yes?”
“Detective Harris would like to speak with you.”
My eyes went to Sophie.
“Why?”
The nurse hesitated.
“He received a preliminary report from the lab.”
“What report?”
She looked at the bottle in my hand.
“That.”
My blood ran cold.
Detective Harris was waiting in a small consultation room.
He was in his late forties, with tired eyes and a notebook tucked under one arm.
He didn’t look at me like I was the mother of a sick child.
He looked at me like I was a witness.
“Mrs. Morgan, I’m going to ask you some questions.”
“About my daughter?”
“Yes.”
“About Daniel?”
“Eventually.”
I sat down.
“What did the lab find?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he pointed at the bottle.
“Where did you get that?”
“It belongs to Sophie.”
“Who gave it to her?”
“My ex-husband.”
“Eric?”
“Yes.”
“How long has she been taking it?”
“About three weeks.”
“How often?”
“Once a day, I think.”
“You think?”
“He gave it to her when she was at his house.”
Detective Harris wrote something down.
“Did you ever inspect the contents?”
“No.”
“Did you know what was inside?”
“Vitamins.”
“Did Eric tell you that?”
“Yes.”
The detective leaned back.
“Mrs. Morgan, the preliminary toxicology screen indicates that this may not be a vitamin supplement.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What is it?”
“We’re waiting for confirmation.”
“What does it do?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I stood.
“Then find out.”
“We’re trying.”
“My daughter has elevated hCG. She has headaches. She has been vomiting. And you’re telling me the bottle her father gave her may contain something else?”
“Yes.”
I slammed my palm against the table.
“Then arrest him.”
The detective didn’t react.
“That’s not how an investigation works.”
“Eric accused Daniel without evidence!”
“I know.”
“He tried to have an innocent man arrested.”
“I know.”
“Then why isn’t Eric in this room?”
“He’s being interviewed.”
I stared at him.
“Where?”
“Downstairs.”
I walked toward the door.
“Mrs. Morgan.”
I stopped.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
Detective Harris opened his notebook.
“We checked the hospital records.”
My heart pounded.
“Okay.”
“Sophie was brought to this hospital once before.”
I frowned.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“She was treated in the pediatric urgent-care department for dizziness and vomiting.”
“That wasn’t this hospital.”
“Yes, it was.”
I shook my head.
“I would remember.”
“You weren’t listed as the accompanying adult.”
The room went silent.
“Who was?”
Detective Harris looked at me.
“Eric.”
I couldn’t speak.
Three months ago.
The headaches.
The vomiting.
The fatigue.
The unexplained bruises she’d had on her arm.
I’d asked Eric about them.
He’d told me Sophie had fallen from her bicycle.
I’d believed him.
Because I had no reason not to.
Detective Harris closed the notebook.
“Mrs. Morgan, I need you to think very carefully.”
“About what?”
“Has anyone else ever given Sophie medication?”
I stared at the pink bottle.
Then I remembered something.
A tiny detail.
Something I had completely forgotten.
About a month ago, I had walked into the kitchen at Eric’s house to pick Sophie up early.
Eric had been standing at the counter.
He had a syringe in his hand.
I’d asked what it was.
He laughed.
