The drive to Riverside General took twelve minutes. I counted every red light, every pothole, every breath Colton took beside me. The hospital loomed ahead, three stories of red brick and tinted windows that reflected the morning sun like accusations.
We walked through the automatic doors, and that smell hit me—antiseptic, floor wax, and old flowers. It was the scent of my worst nightmare.
Dr. Henrik’s office was on the second floor, past the maternity ward. We had to walk through the hallway of glass-walled nurseries to get there. I kept my eyes fixed on the linoleum floor, refusing to look at the pink and blue bundles, refusing to let my heart break again.
The secretary ushered us into Conference Room B. It wasn’t just Dr. Henrik waiting for us.
Two men in dark suits sat at the polished mahogany table. Files were spread across the surface like a battle map. A laptop was open, its screen facing away from us. The air in the room was heavy, charged with static electricity.
“Mrs. Waverly, Mr. Waverly. Please, sit.” Dr. Henrik was younger than I expected, with silver streaks in her black hair and eyes that looked like they hadn’t closed in days. “This is Detective Raone Pike from the State Criminal Investigation Division, and Gregory Ashton from the State Medical Board.”
Criminal Investigation Division.
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Colton went rigid beside me, his hands balling into fists on his thighs.
Detective Pike leaned forward. He had a face that looked like it had been chiseled out of granite and worn down by years of seeing the worst in humanity.
“Mrs. Waverly,” Pike began, his voice gravelly but surprisingly gentle. “I need you to understand that what we are about to share is part of an active federal investigation. But you have the right to know.”
He slid a manila folder across the table.
“The death certificates for Ruby and Jasmine Waverly list the cause of death as ‘severe prematurity complications’ at 26 weeks gestation. According to the attending physician, Dr. Maxwell Norbert, their lungs were too underdeveloped to sustain life.”
“I know what the papers say,” I whispered, trembling. “I was there.”
“That’s just it, Mrs. Waverly,” Gregory Ashton said, tapping the laptop. “You were sedated immediately after delivery. Heavy sedation. What you remember… and what actually happened… might be two different realities.”
Ashton turned the laptop toward us……
