Chapter 13 - The Poisoned Pen
The paper shook so violently in my trembling hands that the pages rustled like dried leaves.
Jason returned an hour later, finding me frozen at the kitchen island, staring blankly at the legal summons spread across the butcher block. When he read the sworn affidavit signed by Evelyn, the blood drained entirely from his face, replaced by a dark, terrifying fury I had never seen in him.
"She’s claiming Emma isn't mine?" Jason whispered, his voice shaking with barely contained rage. "After watching Emma fight for every breath in that incubator? After trying to starve us out of our apartment? She's dragging our infant daughter through the mud to claw back the money?"
"It's worse than that, Jason," I choked out, pointing to paragraph fourteen of the petition. "Look at the medical records she attached."
Jason leaned over my shoulder, his breathing ragged. Attached to the motion were photocopied hospital admission logs from St. Jude’s Women’s Center—the private clinic where I had spent three weeks on bed rest prior to Emma’s emergency delivery at twenty-seven weeks.
The logs showed that my original blood panels, drawn during my second trimester, had been flagged for an anomalous Rh-factor and an unverified fetal DNA fraction. Beside the lab notes were handwritten annotations from my former OBGYN, Dr. Kenneth Albright—a physician who happened to be Evelyn’s country club tennis partner for twenty years.
The note read: *Patient shows secondary antigen incompatibility inconsistent with declared paternal sample. Advise further private consultation with mother-in-law.*
"What is this?" Jason demanded, his knuckles turning white against the counter. "Albright never mentioned this to us! He told us you were having early contractions because of chronic stress and placenta previa!"
"Because Albright wasn't treating me," I realized with sudden, sickening clarity. "He was reporting to Evelyn."
Before Jason could reply, my phone buzzed on the counter. The screen displayed a restricted number. My hand hovered over it before I stabbed the speaker button.
"Do you like my welcoming gift, Clara?" Evelyn’s voice slithered through the tiny speaker, raspy, cold, and utterly devoid of remorse. She sounded ragged around the edges, but dripping with triumphant malice.
"You're violating the court order, Evelyn," I whispered, my voice trembling with disgust. "The police will have you in a cell by midnight."
"Let them try," she chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "I’m calling from a burner in an offshore jurisdiction, darling. You took my home. You took my reputation. You turned every socialite in Boston against me. Did you really think I wouldn't burn your perfect little world to ash?"
"Emma is my child and Jason's child!" I shouted, tears stinging my eyes. "You put a dog bowl in front of a premature baby, Evelyn! You are a monster!"
May you like
"Emma is an interloper," Evelyn hissed, her tone turning venomously sharp. "You were so desperate to give Jason an heir after your two miscarriages that you let yourself be handled, Clara. You think you know what happened during those lost weeks at St. Jude’s? You don't know half of what your beloved Grandma Sarah arranged behind your back. Take the test, Clara. Take it, and watch the entire trust fund dissolve into the state treasury. Neither of you will ever see a penny."
The line went dead with a sharp click.
