Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN FROM DIANE’S CHURCH
Her name was Carol Hayes.
I had met her exactly four times.
She attended the same church as Diane.
She was sixty-one, soft-spoken, and always smelled faintly of lavender.
At 9:14 on Thursday night, she sent me a Facebook message.
Emily, I hope I am not interfering, but I think you should call me.
I almost ignored it.
Then she added one sentence.
It concerns something Diane said about your baby.
I called immediately.
Carol sounded nervous.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For waiting.”
My heart began pounding.
“What did she say?”
There was a long pause.
“Diane has been telling people that you may not be raising the baby.”
I closed my eyes.
“How long?”
“Months.”
Months.
Again.
Every road led back months.
“What exactly did she say?”
“She said Mark was worried about you.”
“About my mental health?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say why?”
“She said pregnancy had made you unstable.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Anything else?”
Carol hesitated.
“Emily, she told several women that she might be getting another chance to raise a child properly.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I thought of the card in the nursery.
Grandma’s second chance.
“Did she explain what that meant?”
“She said Mark had made mistakes because she had been too young and overwhelmed when she raised him.”
Carol’s voice grew quieter.
“She said this time she would do everything right.”
My skin prickled.
“This time?”
“Yes.”
I looked toward Rachel, who was sitting across the room.
She could see something in my face.
She stood.
“Carol, did she say Mark agreed?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
My breath caught.
“What did she say?”
“She said Mark had promised he would never let his daughter grow up in an unstable home.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean—”
“I know.”
Carol interrupted gently.
“But there was another conversation.”
I waited.
“About two months ago, Diane said that after the delivery, you would probably struggle.”
“How could she know that?”
“I don’t think she did.”
“Then why say it?”
“She said once doctors saw how anxious you were, Mark would have what he needed.”
The cold inside me became something sharper.
Not fear.
Understanding.
They had not merely been documenting my reactions.
They had been expecting me to deteriorate.
Maybe even hoping for it.
“Carol, would you be willing to tell my attorney what you just told me?”
She was silent for so long that I thought the call had disconnected.
Then she said, “Yes.”
I exhaled.
“Why?”
“Because I have a daughter.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“And because Diane told me something last Sunday that I have not been able to stop thinking about.”
“What?”
“She said sometimes a woman has to be pushed before people can see who she really is.”
I stopped breathing.
“What exactly did she mean?”
“She didn’t explain.”
But she didn’t need to.
The hospital bag.
The comments.
The arguments.
The constant criticism.
The invasion of privacy.
Diane had been pushing me.
And Mark had watched.
Maybe more than watched.
I thanked Carol.
After the call ended, Rachel sat beside me.
“What did she say?”
I told her.
By the time I finished, Rachel was crying.
I wasn’t.
That surprised both of us.
“You okay?” she asked.
“No.”
I looked down at my stomach.
“But I finally understand.”
“Understand what?”
“This wasn’t about Diane being cruel.”
“She wanted evidence.”
Rachel nodded slowly.
“And Mark?”
“He let her create it.”
I stared at the dark window.
Maybe he had believed Diane’s warnings.
Maybe he had convinced himself he was protecting our daughter.
Maybe he had simply been too weak to challenge his mother.
But none of that changed what he had done.
He had allowed the woman carrying his child to be deliberately distressed so her reactions could be documented.
That night, something inside me ended.
It wasn’t the marriage.
That had probably ended months earlier without my knowing.
It was hope.
The hope that Mark would explain everything.
The hope that he would apologize.
The hope that he had been confused.
May you like
I stopped waiting for a version of my husband who no longer existed.
The next morning, I told Laura to begin preparing divorce papers.
