Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Red Dress“Claire, I need you to listen carefully.”
Dr. Collins stood beside my bed while two nurses adjusted the monitoring equipment.
My baby's heartbeat had fallen sharply.
The steady rhythm I'd been clinging to had become uneven and frightening.
“Is she dying?” I whispered.
“We're seeing a deceleration,” the doctor said. “We're taking steps to improve blood flow and checking for ongoing complications.”
I could barely hear her.
My father stood near the door, his hands clenched.
Margaret Ellis had moved into the hallway.
The nurse repositioned me, adjusted the monitors, and administered fluids.
For several unbearable minutes, everyone watched the screen.
Then the tiny heartbeat began climbing.
I sobbed.
Dr. Collins exhaled.
“That's better.”
“She's okay?”
“For now, yes. But we're going to keep watching very closely.”
My father covered his face with one hand.
The doctor explained that I'd remain under hospital observation and that any new bleeding, pain, or fetal distress could change the treatment plan.
After she left, I lay motionless, listening to the sound of my daughter's heart.
Every beat felt like a promise.
And every second reminded me that Vanessa Sterling had almost taken that promise away.
An hour later, Detective Olivia Grant arrived.
She was a tall woman with dark curly hair pulled into a low bun, wearing a navy blazer and carrying a small notebook.
Her expression was calm but serious.
“Mrs. Mitchell?”
“Claire,” I said.
“Claire. I'm Detective Grant. I'm investigating the assault reported at the courthouse.”
My father stood.
“I can step outside.”
She nodded appreciatively.
“That might be best while I take her statement.”
Dad squeezed my hand and left.
Detective Grant pulled up a chair.
“I understand you've had a difficult day. We can pause whenever you need.”
“I want to tell you everything.”
She started the recording with my permission.
“Can you describe what happened?”
I told her about Vanessa.
The arguments.
The messages.
The shove.
The kick.
Ryan's laughter.
And the moment I'd realized my baby had stopped moving.
The detective listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked a question that surprised me.
“Had Ms. Sterling threatened your pregnancy before?”
I hesitated.
“Not directly.”
“Think carefully.”
I closed my eyes.
Three weeks earlier, Vanessa had called me from an unknown number.
She'd sounded drunk.
“You know Ryan doesn't even want that baby,” she'd said.
I'd hung up.
Then she'd sent a photograph.
A sonogram.
My sonogram.
The one I'd kept in a drawer in our bedroom.
Beneath it, she'd written:
Some women think a baby makes them untouchable.
I opened my eyes.
“Yes.”
Detective Grant leaned forward.
“Tell me.”
I described the call and message.
“Do you still have the photograph?”
“Yes. It's on my phone.”
“May I see it?”
I unlocked my phone and found the message.
The detective studied the screen.
Her expression hardened.
“I'm going to document this.”
I watched her record the information.
“Do you think she planned to hurt me?”
“I can't determine that yet,” Grant replied. “But this message may be relevant to intent.”
She closed her notebook.
“One more question. Did your husband try to stop her?”
I stared at the blanket covering my legs.
“No.”
“Did he help you afterward?”
“No.”
“Did he contact emergency services?”
“No.”
My voice cracked.
“He laughed.”
The detective remained silent.
Then she said quietly, “I'm sorry.”
She explained that investigators were reviewing footage and witness statements and that any charges would be determined through the normal legal process.
I appreciated that she didn't promise things she couldn't guarantee.
Before leaving, she handed me her card.
“If either of them contacts or threatens you, please preserve everything and call us.”
I nodded.
Just as she reached the door, I asked, “Detective?”
She turned.
“Do they know I'm alive?”
“Your husband was informed that you were taken to the hospital.”
“And Vanessa?”
“We've been trying to locate her.”
My throat tightened.
“She's missing?”
“She's not currently in custody.”
The detective's expression became guarded.
“But we've learned something concerning.”
“What?”
“Ms. Sterling apparently left the courthouse shortly after the ambulance departed.”
I stared at her.
“Didn't the police stop her?”
“The initial response focused on getting you medical treatment. Officers secured the scene and began gathering evidence, but she was gone before investigators attempted to contact her.”
“Where did she go?”
“That is what we're trying to establish.”
She hesitated.
“Claire, do you know whether Vanessa has access to your home?”
A cold sensation spread through me.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Ryan gave her a key.”
Detective Grant made a note.
“Do you still have personal documents there?”
“My passport, birth certificate, financial records.”
“Anything connected to your grandmother's estate?”
I thought of the cedar box in my bedroom closet.
Inside were letters Grandma Eleanor had written during the final year of her life.
I'd never shown them to Ryan.
“Yes.”
The detective looked up.
“I recommend you don't return there alone.”
After she left, I called Margaret.
“Something's wrong,” I said.
“Tell me.”
“Vanessa might be going through my things.”
Margaret was silent for a moment.
“Claire, where do you keep your grandmother's letters?”
“In a cedar box.”
“Is it locked?”
“Yes.”
“Does Ryan know about it?”
“He knows the box exists.”
Margaret exhaled slowly.
“Your grandmother wrote you a letter shortly before her death.”
“I know. I have several.”
“No, Claire. A particular letter.”
Something in her voice frightened me.
“What letter?”
“She instructed me to deliver it only if someone attempted to interfere with your inheritance.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“Why?”
“Because she suspected that the person trying to take your money might be someone close to you.”
My heart pounded.
“Margaret, what exactly did Grandma know?”
Before she could answer, I heard someone shouting through the phone.
Margaret's voice moved away.
“Excuse me? You cannot enter this office.”
A man's voice responded.
I couldn't distinguish the words.
Then Margaret came back.
“Claire, I have to go.”
“What's happening?”
“Your husband's attorney has arrived with a demand for access to your trust records.”
“What?”
“He claims Ryan is entitled to review them under the divorce proceedings.”
“Is he?”
“Not simply because he demands it.”
I heard another argument in the background.
Margaret lowered her voice.
“Claire, please listen. There's a woman named Patricia Voss. She worked for your grandmother for twenty-three years.”
“I remember Patricia.”
“She knows where the original documents are.”
“What original documents?”
“The ones your grandmother refused to keep at her house.”
“Why?”
Margaret's answer came in a whisper.
“Because someone had already tried to steal them.”
The call ended.
I stared at my phone.
Then a new message appeared.
It came from Ryan.
Claire, we need to talk before you make a terrible mistake.
I didn't answer.
Another message arrived.
Vanessa didn't mean to hurt you. You know how emotional she gets.
Then another.
If you turn this into a criminal case, you'll destroy our child's future.
I felt my hands shaking.
Six years earlier, a message from Ryan could make my entire day brighter.
Now every word felt like poison.
I took screenshots and forwarded them to Detective Grant.
Then I placed my phone facedown.
At 6:40 that evening, a nurse brought me soup.
I managed three spoonfuls.
At 7:15, Dr. Collins checked my baby's heartbeat.
At 7:32, my father returned carrying a small paper bag.
He'd brought my favorite blueberry muffins from a bakery near the hospital.
The sight almost made me cry.
“You remembered,” I whispered.
“Of course.”
He sat beside me.
“Dad, what happened between Grandma and Ryan?”
He looked startled.
“What do you mean?”
“Margaret mentioned documents. Patricia Voss. Someone trying to steal from the estate.”
Dad sighed.
“Your grandmother became suspicious of several business associates before she died.”
“Was Ryan one of them?”
“She suspected someone connected to him.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
“His mentor. A man named Victor Langley.”
The name struck me.
Victor Langley.
Senior partner at Langley, Mitchell & Pierce.
The man who had given Ryan his first major promotion.
The man who stood beside us at our wedding.
The man Ryan called his second father.
“Why would Grandma know Victor?”
My father looked toward the window.
“Because he handled a business acquisition involving one of her investment companies.”
“And?”
“After the transaction, millions disappeared.”
I stared.
“Did she report it?”
“She asked for an independent audit. But before the findings were completed, she became seriously ill.”
I remembered Grandma's final months.
Her exhaustion.
Her sudden distrust of people she'd once welcomed into her home.
The way she'd gripped my hand and told me never to sign anything I didn't understand.
I had assumed she was simply frightened of dying.
Now I wasn't so sure.
“Dad,” I whispered, “was Grandma's death suspicious?”
He turned sharply.
“No. She died from a documented illness.”
“But the money?”
“That investigation was never completed.”
I looked at my phone.
Ryan had sent another message.
I know you're at St. Catherine's. I'm coming to see you.
My stomach tightened.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Ryan says he's coming.”
My father stood immediately.
“I'll speak to hospital security.”
He was almost at the door when the room telephone rang.
I reached for it.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice answered.
“Claire Mitchell?”
“Yes?”
“Don't let your husband near you.”
I froze.
“Who is this?”
“You don't know me. My name is Natalie Brooks.”
“Why are you calling?”
“Because I worked for Victor Langley.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“And?”
She began crying.
“Because your husband isn't trying to hide an affair anymore, Claire.”
“What is he trying to hide?”
Her next words made the entire room spin.
“He forged your signature on documents worth twenty-six million dollars.”
Then she whispered something worse.
May you like
“And Vanessa knows where he buried the originals.”
The line went dead.
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