CHAPTER 7 — The Truth in My Blood
The hospital was bright and cold and smelled of disinfectant.
A nurse drew four vials of blood. A doctor with kind eyes asked me questions that Daniel had always answered for me. When was my last period? How much did I sleep? Did I ever feel confused?
For the first time in months, I answered for myself.
Megan sat beside me the whole time, holding my hand.
The results came back that evening.
The doctor sat down across from me and spoke very gently.
"Mrs. Whitmore, we found significant levels of a sedative in your system. It's a strong medication. In repeated doses, especially when someone doesn't know they're taking it, it can cause memory gaps, confusion, headaches, dry mouth, and emotional instability."
Every symptom Daniel had blamed on stress.
Every symptom he had written down on his calendar.
"Is it dangerous?" Megan asked.
The doctor paused. "Combined with alcohol, or at higher doses, it can be very dangerous."
I'll give her a stronger dose with breakfast if I have to.
I remembered the orange juice, already poured, sitting beside my plate.
I had to excuse myself and go to the bathroom, where I was sick for a long time.
Detective Morales called later that night. I was at Megan's apartment, wrapped in a blanket on her couch.
"I have some updates," she said. "There's no Dr. R. Collins licensed to practice psychiatry in this state. But there is a Rebecca Collins who works at the front desk of a family clinic downtown."
"I don't understand."
"Your sister-in-law works at the same clinic, Mrs. Whitmore. Billing department. We believe they used the clinic's system to generate prescriptions in your name. The psychiatric letter appears to be fabricated as well."
I closed my eyes.
"There's more," the detective said. "We looked into your husband's finances. Daniel owes a great deal of money. A failed restaurant investment three years ago. Personal loans. Some of the lenders are not the kind of people you want to owe money to. Rachel co-signed nearly all of it."
So that was it.
It wasn't love that brought him to me, or even simple greed.
It was desperation.
My father's house was paid off. It was worth more than Daniel could earn in twenty years. And I had been the grieving daughter sitting alone at a support group, exactly the kind of woman a desperate man could pick out.
"Did his mother really die?" I asked quietly.
The detective hesitated.
"His mother is alive, Mrs. Whitmore. She lives in Arizona. When I called her, she said she hasn't spoken to Daniel in six years."
I put the phone down and stared at the ceiling.
Megan sat beside me without saying anything. She didn't need to.
Every memory of my marriage had been built on a lie.
That night, I didn't take any pills.
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I didn't need to pretend to sleep.
But I didn't sleep anyway.
