When I woke the next morning, the first thing I heard was Eric talking.
His voice was low.
I couldn't make out every word.
He stood near the doorway with his back toward me, holding his phone against his ear.
“No,” he said. “She hasn't signed anything yet.”
I opened my eyes fully.
Eric turned.
His expression changed.
“I'll call you back.”
He ended the call.
“Who was that?”
“Hospital billing.”
“About what?”
“Nothing important.”
I stared at him.
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“Saying what?”
“Nothing important.”
He smiled.
“You need rest.”
“I've heard that about six times.”
“Because it's true.”
He came toward the bed and kissed my forehead.
His lips were warm.
His hand rested briefly against my shoulder.
It should have comforted me.
Instead, I found myself wondering what he had been doing while I slept.
“Where's Olivia?”
“In the nursery.”
“Can I see her?”
“Soon.”
“Now.”
He hesitated.
Then he nodded.
The nurse brought her in a few minutes later.
I held her against my chest.
She opened one dark eye, made a tiny dissatisfied noise, and tucked her face beneath my chin.
I laughed despite the pain.
“There you are.”
Eric stood beside us.
“She looks different already.”
“She was born yesterday.”
“I know.”
I looked at him.
“Are you sure you're okay?”
He smiled.
“I'm fine.”
But he wasn't.
I knew it.
He kept looking at the door.
Later that morning, Denise came into the room.
She was one of the nurses who had helped during the delivery. She wore purple-framed glasses and always seemed to have a pen tucked behind one ear.
“Feeling better?”
“A little.”
“You're doing well.”
She looked at Olivia.
“And someone has already become very popular.”
Eric laughed.
“She has.”
Denise smiled.
Then she said something that made him stop.
“So, are we still going with Olivia Rose?”
Eric's smile disappeared.
I looked at him.
“Apparently not.”
Denise frowned.
“I thought you two decided.”
“We're discussing it.”
I sat up as much as I could.
“No. We're not.”
Eric looked at me.
“Rachel.”
“I told you last night. I want Rose.”
Denise looked between us.
“I'll leave you two alone.”
She turned toward the door.
Then Eric said, “We're probably going with Mae.”
Denise stopped.
I stared at him.
“You just said we were discussing it.”
“We are.”
“No. You just told her.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“It's a middle name.”
“That doesn't make it yours to choose.”
His jaw tightened.
Denise quietly left.
I looked down at Olivia.
She had fallen asleep again.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Changing something we agreed on.”
“I haven't changed anything.”
“You just told Denise.”
He pulled the chair closer.
“You're making this bigger than it is.”
“Because you keep making decisions without me.”
He leaned back.
“You're recovering.”
I felt my anger rise.
“Stop using that as an excuse.”
His expression hardened for a moment.
Then it softened again.
“You're emotional.”
I laughed once.
“I just had a baby.”
“I know.”
“So don't tell me I'm emotional like that explains everything.”
He looked toward Olivia.
“Mae was important to my family.”
I waited.
“Who?”
“My family.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
He didn't reply.
I wanted to push harder, but pain moved across my abdomen and forced me to stop.
He noticed.
“See?”
“Don't.”
“Rachel—”
“Don't use my pain to win an argument.”
He fell silent.
That afternoon, I slept again.
When I woke, the room was empty except for Olivia.
I reached for the bassinet.
My daughter stirred.
I touched her cheek.
“You have your mother's stubbornness,” I whispered.
The door opened.
Eric walked in carrying a thin blue folder.
I watched him place it beside the discharge papers.
“What is that?”
“Documents.”
“What documents?”
“Hospital paperwork.”
“Can I see it?”
“You don't need to worry about it.”
I stared at him.
“That's exactly what worries me.”
He sighed.
“I'll take care of it.”
“My daughter's paperwork?”
“Our daughter's.”
“Then let me see it.”
He didn't answer.
Instead, he picked up his phone.
A message appeared.
He read it and immediately turned the screen away.
“Who was that?”
“Someone helping with the trust.”
“What trust?”
He looked at me.
Then he smiled.
“Nothing you need to deal with right now.”
I felt the room become strangely quiet.
“What trust, Eric?”
“It's something I've had for years.”
“Why would a trust involve our newborn?”
“It doesn't.”
“Then why did you mention it?”
He had no answer.
He picked up the folder.
I reached for it.
He pulled it back.
“Later.”
“No.”
He stopped.
I held out my hand.
“Give it to me.”
“Rachel, you're tired.”
“Give me the folder.”
For the first time, his voice sharpened.
“Not now.”
The door opened before I could respond.
A patient advocate entered.
Her name was Maribel.
She had been assigned to help me with discharge arrangements.
She looked from Eric to me.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” Eric said.
“No,” I said at the same time.
Maribel's eyes settled on me.
“Would you like me to come back?”
“No.”
Eric stood.
“I'll give you both privacy.”
He carried the folder with him.
The door closed.
Maribel sat down.
“What happened?”
I told her.
Not everything.
Just enough.
She listened without interrupting.
Then she asked, “Have you signed the birth registration?”
“No.”
“Any electronic authorization?”
“Not that I know of.”
She wrote something down.
“Would you like me to verify the status?”
“Yes.”
She left.
Ten minutes later, she returned with a phone number.
“Call this office.”
“What am I asking?”
“Ask whether any name submission has been made under your account.”
I called.
A woman named Lana answered.
I gave her my information.
She paused.
Then her tone changed.
“Mrs. Patterson, I can see a submission.”
My heart started beating faster.
“What submission?”
“A birth-registration record.”
“For Olivia?”
“Yes.”
“What name is on it?”
There was a pause.
“Olivia Mae Patterson.”
I closed my eyes.
“That's wrong.”
“I'm sorry?”
“That isn't the name I authorized.”
Lana sounded cautious.
“The submission was authenticated.”
“By whom?”
“I can't provide that information over the phone.”
“I am the mother.”
“I understand.”
“Then tell me who entered it.”
“I can't.”
“Was it entered today?”
Another pause.
“No.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
My eyes opened.
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“9:43 p.m.”
I looked at Maribel.
Yesterday at 9:43.
I remembered that time.
I had been asleep.
Drugged.
Barely conscious.
And Eric had been in the room.
I asked Lana to confirm the record again.
She did.
Then I asked whether there had been an earlier draft.
She hesitated.
“There was.”
“When?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“What name?”
“Olivia Mae Patterson.”
My throat tightened.
“That was before she was born.”
Lana went quiet.
Maribel slowly stood.
“Ask about the authorization.”
I did.
Lana said the submission had been associated with an authenticated account.
“My account?”
“That's what the system indicates.”
“I never logged in.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
My voice cracked.
“I never entered that name.”
“I can note that you dispute the authorization.”
“I want the access history.”
“That may require a formal request.”
“Then tell me how to make it.”
She gave me instructions.
I wrote them down with shaking fingers.
When I ended the call, Maribel looked at me.
“Do you believe your husband did this?”
I stared at the blue folder.
“I don't know.”
That was the honest answer.
But I was beginning to suspect that not knowing was exactly what he had been counting on.
The door opened.
Eric walked back inside.
He looked at my face.
Then at Maribel.
“What happened?”
I watched him carefully.
“The birth registration was submitted.”
He froze.
“What did they put?”
I said nothing.
He waited.
Finally, I told him.
“Olivia Mae Patterson.”
He looked down.
Then back at me.
“You misunderstood.”
“I didn't.”
“Rachel—”
“The submission was made while I was unconscious.”
His jaw tightened.
“You don't know that.”
“I know the timestamp.”
He looked toward Maribel.
Then toward the door.
For one brief second, his expression wasn't loving or concerned.
It was calculating.
I had seen that look before.
Usually when he was negotiating a contract.
Never with me.
“Who told you?” he asked.
“The hospital.”
He exhaled slowly.
Then he said something I would remember for the rest of my life.
“You should have trusted me.”
I looked at him.
“I did.”
His face changed.
That was when I realized how much that answer frightened him.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: The Hospital Record Proved Someone Had Used My Identity, but the Paper Trail Pointed Somewhere Far Beyond My Husband
The Name We Chose Together Was Written Down Before Our Daughter Had Even Taken Her First Breath
Part 2 of 20
