The rest came from social media.
Evelyn’s birthday party was being broadcast through photographs and videos.
In one post, Ryan stood beside his mother beneath a glittering gold banner that read SIXTY-FIVE AND FABULOUS. He held a glass of champagne in one hand.
The timestamp was forty-seven minutes after the ambulance had taken me away.
In another photograph, Evelyn wore a silver gown and a diamond necklace. Ryan stood beside her, smiling.
The caption read:
A son who never lets anyone ruin his mother’s special day.
My hands began trembling.
Then I noticed the comments.
People were asking where I was.
Evelyn had answered one of them.
Claire wasn’t feeling social tonight. Pregnancy hormones. You know how dramatic young women can be.
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
A nurse appeared beside me.
“You need to put the phone away. Your pressure is rising.”
Before I could answer, a new message appeared from Ryan.
It contained only six words.
Heard you had the baby. Congratulations.
No question about my condition.
No question about Hope.
Then another message arrived.
Mom is upset you used an ambulance. The neighbors saw everything. We’ll discuss this when I get home.
I read it twice.
A laugh escaped me.
It sounded unfamiliar, almost frightening.
The NICU nurse crouched beside the wheelchair.
“Claire?”
I looked at Hope through the glass.
“I need you to document something for me.”
“What?”
“Every call made to my husband. Every time he refused to come. Every medical warning he was given.”
The nurse hesitated.
“For legal reasons?”
“For my daughter.”
I opened Ryan’s message again and took a screenshot.
Then I called my brother.
Noah answered on the first ring.