Chapter 3 - Playing the Victim
The door to the hospital room crept open.
Evan walked in holding a bouquet of cheap pink roses.
Margaret and Harold were right behind him.
Margaret had a small bandage on her forehead where the skillet had hit.
She glared at Claire with pure venom.
But as soon as a nurse walked by, Margaret smiled sweetly.
“Oh, my poor dear daughter-in-law,” Margaret cooed loud enough for the staff to hear.
Evan sat on the edge of the bed.
He reached for Claire’s hand.
Claire’s stomach churned with disgust.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to rip her hand away and call the police.
But she remembered the hidden document.
She had no proof yet.
If she accused them now, it was three against one.
They would claim postpartum psychosis.
They would take her baby.
So, Claire did the hardest thing she had ever done in her life.
She squeezed Evan’s hand back.
“I was so scared, Evan,” she whispered, forcing a tear.
Evan looked relieved.
He thought the trauma had erased her memory of the blue folder.
“You had a terrible fall, honey. But you’re safe now.”
Harold stood in the corner, arms crossed.
“Yeah, a real clumsy fall,” Harold muttered.
Claire looked down, playing the traumatized victim perfectly.
“Where is the baby?” Evan asked, sounding like a proud father.
“In the NICU for observation,” Claire replied softly.
“She’s a fighter.”
Margaret stepped closer to the bed.
“Well, since you’ll be in here for a few days, we should handle the paperwork.”
She pulled the familiar blue folder from her oversized purse.
“The house transfer, Claire. You never finished signing.”
Claire’s heart hammered in her chest.
She looked at the folder.
She knew what was hidden beneath the top page.
“I’m so tired today, Margaret,” Claire sighed, closing her eyes.
“My hands are shaking from the medication. Tomorrow. I promise.”
Margaret’s jaw tightened.
But Evan placed a hand on his mother’s arm.
“Tomorrow is fine, Mom. Let her rest.”
They left the room, thinking they had won.
The moment the door clicked shut, Claire’s eyes snapped open.
The tears vanished.
She grabbed her cell phone from the bedside table.
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She dialed a number she hadn't called in three years.
“Sarah? It’s Claire. I need the best ruthless lawyer you have. Now.”
