Chapter 2 - THE WARRANT WAITING IN THE ICU
Ethan drove through two red lights with one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around mine.
By the time we reached Northwestern Memorial Hospital, my breathing had become shallow and my dress was soaked with sweat.
Nurses rushed me into obstetric triage.
Ethan was forced to remain outside while doctors examined the burns, monitored the baby, and ordered scans after I lost consciousness.
When I woke again, I was in the intensive care unit.
A monitor pulsed beside me. An IV ran into my arm. My abdomen felt tight, but a fetal heartbeat echoed from the machine near the bed.
“The baby?” I whispered.
Ethan leaned over me immediately.
“Still with us.”
His eyes were red.
“The doctors stopped the contractions. They’re monitoring you for internal complications and stress-related cardiac symptoms.”
I touched my stomach.
“Did you call the police?”
“Yes.”
“Did you give them the recording?”
He looked away.
“Your phone disappeared in the emergency room.”
Panic cut through the medication.
“What?”
“It was in your cardigan when we arrived. A nurse put your clothes in a property bag. When I went back, the phone was gone.”
“My family.”
“Security is checking the cameras.”
Ethan sat beside me and lowered his voice.
“Your mother showed up about an hour after we arrived. She claimed she wanted to see you. Security turned her away.”
“She took it.”
“Probably.”
“The recording was the only proof.”
“I heard them. I’m a witness.”
“You’re my husband. Dad will say you’re biased.”
Ethan squeezed my hand.
“I don’t care what he says.”
A knock came at the door.
Two Chicago police detectives entered, followed by a uniformed officer.
The older detective introduced herself as Mara Collins. Her partner, Daniel Ruiz, remained near the door.
“Mrs. Carter,” Collins said, “we need to ask you some questions about what occurred at your parents’ residence.”
“My sister caused me to fall. My parents stopped my husband from calling for help.”
“Did you physically attack your sister before the fall?”
I stared at her.
“No.”
Detective Ruiz opened a folder.
“Your parents reported that you arrived in an agitated state, threatened Claire, threw a cup at her, and then fell while attempting to assault her.”
Ethan stood.
“That is a lie.”
“Mr. Carter, sit down.”
“She is in intensive care.”
Collins raised one hand.
“We understand this is difficult, but there’s more.”
She placed a document on the tray beside my bed.
At the top was my name.
Beneath it were accusations of assault, harassment, and unlawful possession of prescription medication.
“What medication?” I asked.
Ruiz showed me a photograph of a plastic bottle found inside my purse.
The label had been removed.
“Those aren’t mine.”
“Your father states you have struggled with substance abuse and unstable behavior for several years.”
Ethan let out a stunned laugh.
“She’s an elementary-school counselor. She doesn’t even drink.”
“Her parents provided medical records.”
“What records?”
Collins hesitated.
“A psychiatric evaluation describing paranoid behavior, violent outbursts, and fabricated accusations against family members.”
My heart monitor quickened.
“I have never had a psychiatric evaluation.”
The detectives exchanged a look.
Ruiz removed another paper.
“A judge signed a warrant authorizing the seizure of your electronic devices and a temporary emergency psychiatric hold once you are medically stable.”
Ethan stepped between them and my bed.
“You’re not taking her anywhere.”
“The warrant has already been issued.”
“Based on forged records.”
“That will be investigated.”
I looked at the signature on the supposed evaluation.
The doctor’s name was familiar.
Dr. Samuel Pierce.
Claire’s former fiancé.
He had worked at a private psychiatric clinic in Wisconsin before losing his hospital privileges under circumstances my family refused to discuss.
“Claire arranged this,” I said.
Collins studied me. “Why would your sister create psychiatric records before today?”
The question landed hard.
Because the document was dated eight months earlier.
This had not begun with the tea.
My family had been preparing to discredit me long before I announced my pregnancy.
Ethan read the date and went still.
“Emily,” he said quietly, “what do they think you know?”
I looked toward the window, where downtown Chicago glowed beneath the winter clouds.
Then I remembered the envelope my grandmother had hidden inside a cookbook before she died.
An envelope I had never opened.
May you like
“My grandmother left me something,” I said.
“My parents have been trying to get it back for almost a year.”
