Chapter 4

The arrival of my family was a masterclass in public relations. My mother swept into the lobby, her face a mask of anguish. My father followed, looking grave and concerned. Daniel, my brother, hung back, his eyes burning with a barely concealed rage.

"Oh, my poor girl," my mother cried, rushing to my side and trying to wrap me in an embrace.

I flinched away from her touch as if from a hot iron. "Don't touch me," I snarled.

Her face flickered with surprise, then settled back into practiced sorrow. "See?" she said to Mrs. Gable, who was now joined by the building's doorman. "She's having an episode. We were so worried."

"They're lying," I said, my voice shaking but loud. "They're all in on it. They want to force me to have an abortion."

Liam held up the soggy, ruined report. "She's hysterical. We got some difficult news about the baby's health. She's not taking it well."

It was the perfect lie. Plausible. Sympathetic. It painted me as the unstable one, them as the caring family struggling with a tragedy.

But Daniel couldn't hold his composure. He saw the way I looked at him, the knowledge dawning in my eyes. The truth of what he was, of what they had all covered up.

"You shut your mouth," he hissed, taking a step toward me.

"Daniel, no!" my mother warned, but it was too late.

He lunged, his hands outstretched, aiming for my throat. I dodged, scrambling backward, and tripped over a decorative planter. I went down hard. Before he could fall on me, the doorman, a big man named Hector, stepped between us.

"That's enough!" he boomed. "I'm calling the police."

The threat of authorities sent a wave of panic through my family. They exchanged frantic looks. But it was too late. Within minutes, two uniformed officers were walking through the glass doors of the lobby.

Hope, sharp and painful, flared in my chest. This was it. This was where the nightmare ended.

"What's going on here?" the older officer asked, his eyes taking in the scene: me on the floor, my wild-eyed brother being held back by my father, and my mother trying to look serene and in control.

"Officer, thank God," my mother said, stepping forward. "My daughter, Chloe, is having a severe mental health crisis. We were trying to get her to the hospital."

"She's lying!" I shouted from the floor, my voice raw. "He attacked me! They all did! They're trying to kidnap me!"

"Ma'am, please calm down," the younger officer said, helping me to my feet. "Let's just get everyone's story."

They separated us. I poured out the whole story, my voice trembling with urgency. I told them about the forced abortion, the threats, the violence. I told them it was all because of a genetic test report that Liam had.

The officers listened patiently, their faces unreadable. Then they went to talk to my family. I watched them huddle together, my mother's hands gesturing gracefully as she spun her web of lies. She painted me as a tragic, unstable artist, prone to flights of fancy and paranoia, devastated by the news that her much-wanted baby had a fatal genetic flaw.

The older officer came back to me. "Ma'am, your husband says you have a medical report. May we see it?"

"Yes," I said eagerly. "Look at it. It will prove everything."

Liam reluctantly handed over the damp, wrinkled pages. The officer took them, trying to smooth them out. He and his partner read through what was still legible, their brows furrowed in concentration.

I watched their faces, waiting for the moment of understanding, the spark of outrage on my behalf. But it didn't come. They looked confused, then wary.

"Ma'am," the older officer said, his tone shifting from patient to official. "This report is badly damaged, but what we can read seems to indicate a genetic abnormality with the fetus. Your family says they were acting out of concern for you and the... difficult situation."

"It's a lie!" I insisted desperately. "The abnormality... it's not what they say! It's about who the father is! They're trying to hide a secret!"

The officer exchanged a look with his partner. It was the look people give to someone they believe is unhinged.

"They're trying to have me declared insane so they can force me to do this," I pressed, my voice getting louder, more frantic. "Check the security cameras! You'll see him attack me!"

"We will look at all the evidence, ma'am," the officer said, his voice patronizingly calm. He turned to my family. "While this appears to be a family matter, an allegation of assault has been made. We'll need you all to come down to the precinct to give formal statements."

A small victory. It wasn't what I wanted, but it was a step. At the station, I demanded they get a clean copy of the report directly from the lab. I gave them the name of the lab, the doctor, everything. I was fighting for my life, for the truth.

An hour later, the officer came back into the small room where they had me waiting. He was holding a fresh, crisp copy of the report.

"We have the official report, Ms. Patterson," he said. "We've reviewed it. We also reviewed the security footage from your building."

"And?" I asked, leaning forward, my hands gripping the edge of the table.

"The footage shows your brother acting aggressively. We've charged him with assault."

A wave of relief so intense it almost made me sick washed over me.

"But the report..." he continued, his face grim. "It confirms what your family said. There's a severe genetic issue. And given the nature of it... we can understand their distress."

I stared at him. "You don't understand. The 'issue' is that my husband isn't the father. A relative is. They're trying to cover up a crime."

The officer sighed, looking at me with pity. "Ma'am, the report indicates the father is a first-degree relative. Your husband, your father, or your brother. We questioned them. Liam and your father have volunteered for a DNA test to clear their names. Your brother... given the assault charge, we can compel him. This is a very messy family situation."

He thought I had cheated with my own father or brother. My family's lie was working. They were twisting the truth into something so ugly, no one would want to look at it closely. They were making me the monster.

"No," I whispered, the walls closing in. "That's not... it's not them."

"I need to see it," I said, my voice suddenly clear and cold. "I am the patient. That is my medical information. I want to see that report. Now."

The officer hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll bring it to you."

He didn't know it, but he was about to hand me the weapon that had been used against me. And I was finally going to learn how to wield it.