But the old Emma had nearly died on a nursery floor.
“Tell her I’ll receive them,” Emma said.
Daniel nodded. “There is also something else. Amber says Ryan recently increased his life insurance policy.”
Emma frowned. “That doesn’t sound unusual. We had a baby.”
“No,” Daniel said carefully. “Not his policy. Yours.”
The room went quiet.
Ruth sat straighter. “Can he do that?”
“He should not be able to without consent,” Daniel said. “Which is why we need to review the documents.”
Emma’s skin went cold.
“I didn’t sign anything.”
“I believe you,” Daniel said.
Ruth stood abruptly, then gripped her cane, forcing herself to remain calm.
Emma looked down at her hands. They had trembled often since the hemorrhage, but now they were still.
Oddly still.
There are moments when fear becomes so complete that it turns into clarity.
“Find out,” she said.
Daniel’s expression softened. “We will.”
That night, after Daniel left and Ruth went downstairs to make dinner, Emma sat awake beside Ethan’s bassinet.
Snow tapped lightly against the window.
Her phone rested on the blanket near her knee. She had not replied to Ryan’s letter. She did not know if she ever would.
Part of her believed he was sorry.
Part of her believed sorry was the first honest thing he had offered in years.
But sorry did not erase the image of him standing in the hallway with his suitcase while she begged from the floor. Sorry did not restore the blood she had lost. Sorry did not quiet the question now forming in the darkest corner of her mind.
What had Ryan known?
And when?
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Daniel appeared.
Amber has sent documents. Some are concerning. We’ll discuss tomorrow.
A second message followed.
Emma, one item cannot wait. There is a signed medical power of attorney dated six weeks ago naming Ryan as your sole decision-maker if incapacitated. Signature appears questionable. Did you sign anything at his office holiday event?
Emma stared at the screen.
Six weeks ago.
The holiday event.
She remembered Ryan handing her a folder while she stood near the coat check, exhausted and heavily pregnant. “Just the pediatric insurance pre-enrollment,” he had said. “Sign here so I can submit it Monday.”
She had trusted him.
Her chest tightened.
Before she could respond, another text arrived.
This one was from an unknown number.
Emma opened it.
It was a photograph.
Not of Ryan.
Not of Amber.
Not of a document.
It was a picture of her nursery taken from the doorway on the morning Ryan left for Aspen. In the photo, Emma was visible in the rocking chair, one hand on her abdomen, Ethan asleep against her chest.
Below the image was a message.
I tried to warn you before he left. Please don’t trust the story Ryan is telling. He wasn’t the only person who knew you were in danger.
Emma stopped breathing for a moment.
At the bottom of the message was a name she had not expected to see.
Linda Parker.
Ryan’s mother.