Chapter 2 - The Video Nobody Was Supposed to See
The ambulance doors closed before I could ask the server his name. I sat beside Grace, holding her hand while the paramedic clipped a monitor around her finger. She was twenty-nine weeks pregnant. Until ten minutes ago, our biggest worry had been the argument over whether to name our daughter June or Rose.
“There's a little bleeding,” the paramedic said carefully. “We're going to get her checked immediately.”
Grace searched my face. “Promise me you won't believe her.”
“I believe you.”
“You said that last time.”
The words hit harder than the centerpiece. Three weeks earlier, Grace had claimed Mother cornered her in our kitchen and threatened to make sure she wasn't welcome at Olivia's wedding. I'd called it a misunderstanding. I hadn't wanted to choose between my wife and the woman who raised me.
Now I knew my silence had been a choice.
At the hospital, a nurse rolled Grace through double doors while I answered questions I barely understood. A doctor named Dr. Patel explained that they needed scans, monitoring, and tests before they could tell us whether Grace and our baby were safe.
At the emergency desk, a volunteer asked whether I needed water. I couldn't remember when I'd last swallowed. The white band on my wrist said VISITOR, an absurd label for a man whose whole world was beyond those doors. I reread Grace's last three texts: Don't forget the gift. Olivia needs us at four. Baby kicked all morning. Ordinary messages from a morning that no longer existed. I wanted to climb backward through time and put my body between Grace and the person I'd trusted most.
My phone vibrated. Olivia: MOM SAYS GRACE FELL. PEOPLE ARE POSTING VIDEOS. PLEASE FIX THIS.
A second message arrived from an unknown number: My name is Mateo. I was serving the head table. I have the video. Your mother tried to take my phone. Don't tell her where I am.
I called him. He spoke from somewhere windy. “I saw her grab your wife's arm. There's more, Mr. Whitmore. Your mother was talking to somebody before it happened.”
“Who?”
“The wedding planner. And a man I didn't recognize. They were arguing about an envelope.”
I asked Mateo to send me the recording and not confront anyone. The file arrived a moment later. I watched seven seconds of Mother clutching Grace's elbow, leaning close, then giving one hard shove. Grace stumbled into a chair. The red stain appeared moments later. My jaw locked.
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But the recording didn't end there. As the camera swung, Mother faced the unknown man and hissed something unmistakable.
“You told me the records were gone.”
