Chapter 3

The typing indicator appeared, vanished, then returned.

*Daniel, don't do anything impulsive,* her mother finally replied. *I checked. The baby is yours.*

I stared at those words. They meant less than they should have.

Vivian's voice emerged from the driver's phone. "Take him home. And bring me his wedding ring. Nathan should have it."

The driver reached across and pulled the ring from my finger. I'd worn it for five years; losing it felt like having something torn out of my body.

"Please take me to a hospital," I said. My head was spinning. "I don't have money for a ride."

The driver hesitated, then glanced at Vivian's new message telling him not to waste another minute on me.

I walked the three miles myself.

At the clinic, Dr. Grace Bennett—who had examined me during my detention—took one look at my face and hurried for a thermometer.

"Daniel, you're burning up. You were healthy two weeks ago. You've lost weight, your stress levels are off the charts, and your temperature is above 104 degrees. You need tests and treatment. Is there someone who can come help pay and stay with you?"

"I don't have anyone," I said.

I called Vivian anyway. On the fifth video call she answered, breathing hard in a darkened room.

Dr. Bennett spoke directly into the camera. "Your husband's seriously ill. Can you come to the hospital?"

The camera shifted. There was a fresh mark on Vivian's neck. Nathan's voice drifted into the call, intimate and smug.

"Is he pretending to be sick again? Honestly, Daniel, get some new material."

Vivian turned the phone to show me the maternity clinic behind her. "I ended the pregnancy, just like you wanted. So what is it now? Another excuse to get my money?"

There was a document in her hand. I could barely focus on it.

"Never mind," I whispered. "I won't ask you for another dollar."

"Good."

She ended the call.

Grace didn't say anything for a long time. Then she quietly arranged for my tests and covered the bill herself.

A day later I could walk again. My phone showed more than ninety-nine new messages. Strangers called me a parasite and told me to steal money from my father's grave.

Buried among them were three texts from Vivian.

*Nathan used your case in an online fraud-awareness post. He accidentally exposed your personal information.*

*It's gone viral. People are being emotional.*

*Don't make a big deal out of it. If the court clears you, I'll have him apologize.*

As if an apology could bring back my father. Or my child.