Chapter 3
Story: A Year After the Divorce, He Mocked Her in the Maternity Wing — Then the Elevator Opened
The hallway had become a stage, and nobody on it knew their lines anymore except the doctor and the woman in the cream cardigan. Dr. Okafor stood beside Mara like a stone wall, the sealed envelope still in his hand, his presence a quiet rebuke to the performance Derek had been giving moments before. The baby had started crying again, a thin, exhausted wail, and Priya was rocking him with a desperation that made her look like she was holding him up as a shield.
"Dr. Okafor," Derek said, and his voice cracked on the second syllable. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Dr. Okafor, I don't know what you think you've found, but I can assure you, whatever that file says, it doesn't change anything that happened. Mara and I separated for a lot of reasons. Her health was one of them. Her emotional state was another. There were—"
"Her emotional state," Dr. Okafor repeated. He turned to look at Derek fully, and there was something cold behind the wire-rimmed glasses. "Tell me about her emotional state, Mr. Calloway."
Derek blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"You're the one who brought it up. I'd like to hear you describe it."
Derek glanced at Priya, who had gone very still against the wall. Her dark eyes were fixed on the floor, on the milk spreading in a wide pale fan around her feet. She was not going to help him. He looked back at Dr. Okafor.
"She was depressed," he said. "She was anxious. She was obsessing over the treatments, over the failed attempts. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't eat. She was crying all the time. I did everything I could to support her, but she wouldn't let me in. She pushed me away."
"Is that an accurate account?" Dr. Okafor asked. His voice was neutral, a clinician asking for information.
Derek nodded, a jerky motion. "Yes. I mean, yes, that's what happened."
"And you, Ms. Raval?" Dr. Okafor turned to Priya. "Would you corroborate that account?"
Priya's mouth opened and closed. The baby was crying against her shoulder, and she was patting his back with a hand that trembled. "I—" she started. "I wasn't there for all of it. I saw her when she was upset. I saw her after the treatments. She was—she was struggling."
"Struggling in what way?"
"I don't know," Priya said, and her voice came out high, too fast. "I'm not a doctor. I'm just a friend. She was sad. She was frustrated. She said things."
"What things?"
Priya's eyes darted to Mara, then back to the floor. "She said she felt like a failure. She said she couldn't give him what he wanted. She said—"
"Thank you," Dr. Okafor said, and he cut her off. "That's very helpful."
He turned back to Derek. "Mr. Calloway, I'm going to ask you a question, and I'd like you to answer it honestly. At the time you filed for divorce, did you have any reason to believe your wife might, in fact, have a condition that was affecting her fertility outcomes — a condition distinct from what was written in her final chart?"
Derek's face went through several stages in the span of a second. The first was confusion. The second was caution. The third was fear.
"I don't—" he started. "I don't know what you're asking."
"I'm asking if you believe she was ever actually infertile."
Derek looked at Priya. This time, Priya met his eyes. Her face was pale, and her gold hoop earrings swung as she shook her head, a tiny, frantic motion.
"I can't," she whispered. "Derek, I can't—"
"Can't what?" Derek snapped, and the snap was loud, violent. The baby's crying got louder. Priya flinched.
"Ms. Raval," Dr. Okafor said, "would you like to tell the hallway what it is you can't do?"
Priya was crying now. Silent tears ran down her face, catching the fluorescent light, and she held the baby up against her chest like a stuffed animal. "Please," she said. "Please, this is not—you don't understand. You don't understand what we were going through. You don't understand what she was like."
"I understand the records," Dr. Okafor said. "And the records tell a different story."
He stepped forward, holding the envelope in both hands. "Ms. Raval, your signature appears on a document in this file. A document that was not part of the original chart. A document that was dated one day after Mrs. Ellison's final treatment, and one day before the file was marked for destruction."
Priya stopped crying. The tears stopped as if someone had turned off a tap. Her face went from grief to blank in a second, and she looked at Dr. Okafor with eyes that had gone dark.
"You found it," she said. Not a question. A statement.
"Mm," Dr. Okafor said. "I found it, Ms. Raval."
"Found what?" Derek demanded. His voice had risen to a pitch that was almost shrill. His polished watch flashed as he grabbed at the air, reaching for explanation like a man drowning. "What is she talking about? What document?"
"Mara's file contained a do-not-serve order," Dr. Okafor said. "A document stating that the patient complained of negative side effects from her treatment, that she refused further care, and that she had become verbally aggressive toward clinic staff. The document was dated February 14th, the same day as her final treatment, and it was signed by a nurse who has since left the hospital."
He paused. "The nurse has been located. She has been interviewed. She states that she did not sign that document, and that she was not on duty on February 14th. The signature on the form has been analyzed. It does not match her handwriting."
Derek's mouth opened and closed.
"The form was dated the same day as Mara's final treatment," Dr. Okafor said. "The same day. Three days before the divorce was filed. One day before the file was marked for destruction. And the signature on the form was forged."
He held the envelope up, and everyone in the hallway could see the seal, still unbroken.
"The destruction order was never processed despite being marked. The do-not-serve order was forged. The file was hidden in a retired physician's belongings. And Mara was told she was infertile, and left the hospital believing she'd failed, when the records show a patient whose treatment was proceeding normally, with no significant adverse events documented on the day in question."
The silence that followed was so complete that the baby's crying sounded like a scream. The little boy was wailing now, a red-faced, desperate sound, and Priya was just standing there, holding him, not rocking, not patting, just standing.
"Priya," Derek said, and his voice had gone soft. "Priya, what did you do?"
Priya's eyes were still on the floor. "I did what you asked," she said. "You asked me to talk to the nurse. You asked me to make sure she didn't say anything. You said it was for my sake. You said it was because you needed closure. You said—"
"For your sake?" Derek repeated. "What are you talking about? I never asked you to—"
"You did," Priya said, and her voice was suddenly hard. "You asked me to handle it. You asked me to make sure the file was destroyed. You said it was too painful for you to be involved. You said if Mara ever found out the truth, she'd come after you. After us. And I believed you."
She looked up at him, and the mask was gone. The polite smile was gone. The concerned friend was gone. What was left was a woman whose eyes were full of something that looked a lot like hate.
"You told me she was unstable, Derek," she said. "You told me she was dangerous. You told me she'd never be able to have a child, and that the treatment was making her worse, and that the kind thing to do was let her go. You told me that, and I believed you, because you're my best friend's husband, and I thought you loved her."
The baby bottle rolled out of her hand again. It hit the tile with a soft clatter, and the milk that was left in it spilled in a small puddle at her feet.
"You told me it was the truth," she said. "And I helped you bury it."
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