Rachel.
My hands shook so badly the paper rattled.
Oliver watched me. “Is Mom in trouble?”
I wanted to shield him from the truth, but children always know when adults lie.
“I think she was trying to keep you safe,” I said.
His eyes filled. “Is she coming?”
“I don’t know yet.”
The honest answer hurt, but not as much as a false promise would have.
I called Detective Reed from the hallway while Maribel stayed with Oliver. He answered on the second ring, alert despite the hour.
When I said Rachel’s name, he went quiet. “Where’s the boy?”
“At St. Agnes.”
“Do not let anyone take him. Especially not a man claiming to be his father.”
My blood went cold. “Is Mark his father?”
“Biologically, yes. Legally, it’s complicated. Rachel filed a report last week. She said she had evidence of stalking and threats, but she missed our follow-up meeting tonight.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“We’re looking.”
I glanced through the small window in Oliver’s door. He sat very still, clutching the blanket like it was the only solid thing left.
“What do I do?” I asked.
Detective Reed’s voice softened. “Stay with him until child protective services arrives. Tell the staff to flag his chart. No visitors except approved personnel.”
“I barely know him.”
“But his mother trusted you.”
I looked at the letter in my hand.
Twelve years of silence, and Rachel still remembered me as the one who saw both sides.
So I went back into the room, pulled my chair closer to Oliver’s bed, and said, “I’m not leaving tonight.”
For the first time since I arrived, he breathed like he believed me.
