Chapter 9 - THE STORY THEY INVENTED
Travis’s attorney moved quickly.
According to the filing, Travis had believed I was experiencing “routine late-pregnancy discomfort.”
He claimed I had frequently suffered anxiety.
He claimed I refused to call my doctor.
He claimed he expected to be gone less than an hour.
Every statement was carefully written.
Every statement was misleading.
Then came the worst one.
Travis claimed he had offered to take me to the hospital before going to the mall.
I stared at the document.
“That never happened.”
Rebecca sat beside my hospital bed.
“I know.”
“He’s lying.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the truth is terrible for him.”
My hands shook.
“He told me not to move.”
“And we have video.”
That stopped me.
The camera.
I had forgotten how powerful that recording was.
Rebecca turned another page.
“They are also claiming your relationship with Deborah became hostile during pregnancy.”
“It did.”
“Why?”
“Because she wanted to control everything.”
“Good.”
I looked at Rebecca.
“Good?”
“Not good that it happened.”
“Good that we can document the reason.”
Over the next day, we collected messages.
Hundreds of them.
Deborah criticizing my obstetrician.
Deborah insisting twins did not require “special treatment.”
Deborah demanding we schedule the delivery around Megan’s birthday dinner.
Travis telling me to apologize whenever I objected.
Then Rebecca found a message that made both of us go silent.
It was from two weeks before labor.
I had texted Travis after a prenatal appointment.
Dr. Patel says if contractions become regular, I need to go in immediately because Twin A is positioned badly.
Travis had replied.
Understood.
No delays.
I stared at those two words.
No delays.
Rebecca leaned back.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“He absolutely knew.”
My stomach turned.
Suddenly the mall trip was no longer a misunderstanding.
It was a choice made with full knowledge.
That afternoon, Detective Ross called.
“I need you to stay calm.”
“What happened?”
“We obtained the parking lot surveillance from the mall.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because your husband’s family told officers they rushed through their shopping and returned as quickly as possible.”
My pulse accelerated.
“They didn’t?”
“No.”
Detective Ross paused.
“They ate lunch.”
I closed my eyes.
“How long?”
“Forty-seven minutes.”
The room tilted.
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While my son’s heart rate was dropping, Travis had been sitting inside a restaurant.
Eating lunch.
