Chapter 2 - The Form Leah Never Signed
The next morning, Leah woke to find the psychiatric consultation form inside her medical chart.
Signed.
Her name appeared at the bottom.
The handwriting looked almost perfect.
Almost.
But Leah knew exactly how she wrote the L in Leah.
This one was wrong.
She pressed the call button.
Mae arrived three minutes later.
Leah pointed at the signature.
“I didn’t sign that.”
Mae read the form.
Her expression changed.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Mae checked the electronic chart.
According to the system, the form had been uploaded at 2:17 in the morning.
Leah had been asleep.
Nathan had not been there.
Doreen had left hours earlier.
“Who uploaded it?”
Mae did not answer immediately.
“I’m going to check.”
She removed the paper from the chart.
Before leaving, she lowered her voice.
“If anyone asks whether you requested a psychiatric consult, you say no.”
Leah’s pulse quickened.
“Why?”
“Just say no.”
Mae walked away.
Simone watched from her bed.
“You need pictures.”
Leah turned.
“What?”
“Photograph everything.”
“That’s hospital paperwork.”
“That has your forged signature.”
Leah took out her phone.
She photographed the form.
Then she photographed the timestamp.
Simone nodded.
“Good.”
“Why do you sound like you’ve done this before?”
Simone gave a humorless smile.
“My older sister lost temporary custody of her daughter for seventy-two hours because someone described her panic attack as a psychotic episode.”
Leah stared at her.
“What happened?”
“Her husband’s family had money.”
Simone looked toward the door.
“And friends.”
Leah’s stomach tightened.
At ten, Dr. Celia Rusk entered.
Doreen came with her.
Again.
Dr. Rusk smiled.
“How are we feeling?”
“Why is there a psychiatric form in my chart with a forged signature?”
The doctor’s smile weakened.
Doreen answered.
“Nathan signed it.”
“It has my name.”
“He was trying to help.”
“You can’t sign my name.”
Doreen sat down.
“Leah, your fixation on paperwork is exactly why everyone is concerned.”
Leah stared at her.
“My fixation on someone forging my signature?”
Dr. Rusk lifted both hands.
“Nobody is accusing you of anything.”
“Then remove it.”
“We can clarify the record.”
“Remove it.”
The doctor hesitated.
That hesitation told Leah everything.
Doreen leaned toward Nathan’s empty chair.
“Your husband is frightened.”
“Of what?”
“Of what you might do once the baby comes.”
Leah laughed in disbelief.
“I’m thirty-eight weeks pregnant and sitting in a hospital bed.”
“You told him you dreamed the baby died.”
“It was a nightmare.”
“You became obsessed with it.”
“I mentioned it once.”
Dr. Rusk wrote something on her tablet.
Leah saw the words before the screen turned.
PATIENT BECOMES AGITATED WHEN MENTAL HEALTH DISCUSSED.
“Stop writing.”
Dr. Rusk looked up.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re documenting my reaction to something you’re doing to me.”
Doreen shook her head sadly.
“There.”
She looked at Dr. Rusk.
“That’s what Nathan was describing.”
Leah felt a terrible clarity settle over her.
This was not concern.
It was construction.
They were building a version of her.
One sentence at a time.
After they left, Mae returned.
She shut the door.
“I checked the upload.”
“Who did it?”
Mae’s face was pale.
“The login belonged to Dr. Rusk.”
Leah’s chest tightened.
“But the access terminal was in the executive offices.”
“Who was there?”
May you like
Mae looked toward the hallway.
“Your mother-in-law.”
