Daniel stood beside the baseball field with the old glove hanging from his hand. Lucas had not moved. I could see the question forming on his face before he spoke. “What did Mom know?” he asked. Daniel looked toward the empty bleachers, as if the answer might be easier if he didn't have to look directly at us.
“Teagan had been having headaches,” he said. “Bad ones. She told me they were getting worse during the last few weeks.”
I felt something tighten behind my ribs. “She never told me that.”
“She didn't want you frightened.”
“She was my daughter. I should have known.”
“I told her that.”
“What did she say?”
Daniel lowered his eyes. “She said you'd already spent your whole pregnancy worrying about her. She didn't want to become another problem you had to carry.”
I almost laughed, but there was nothing funny in it. That sounded exactly like Teagan. She had always hidden pain behind ordinary words. A stomachache became tiredness. Fear became stress. Tears became lack of sleep.
“What kind of headaches?” I asked.
“Severe ones. Sometimes she said her vision went strange. Bright spots. She told me once that she couldn't see properly for a few minutes.”
My stomach turned.
“And you knew?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I was seventeen, Margaret.”
“You were old enough to tell an adult.”
“I know.”
His answer came without defensiveness, and that somehow made it harder to stay angry.
Lucas finally spoke. “Did you tell the doctors?”
Daniel looked at him.
“She told them.”
“What did they say?”
“They said pregnancy could cause all kinds of symptoms. They checked her blood pressure at one appointment and told her to monitor it.”
I remembered that appointment.
Teagan had come home annoyed because the waiting room had been crowded. She had complained about the cold examination room and said the nurse had taken her blood pressure twice.
I had asked whether everything was okay.
She had said, “They said I'm fine.”
Daniel continued.
“A few days before the birth, she told me she was scared because her hands were swelling. Her face looked different too.”
I remembered that.
Her wedding ring had become tight.
I had suggested taking it off before her finger swelled more.
She had smiled and said, “Look at you, acting like a doctor.”
I had laughed.
Now the memory felt like a knife.
“Why didn't she go back?” I asked.
“She wanted to.”
Daniel's voice became quieter.
“But she was worried they would tell her it was nothing again.”
Lucas stared at him.
“So she stayed home?”
“Not exactly.”
Daniel explained that Teagan had called the hospital the night before labor. She had described the headache, swelling, and flashes in her vision. The person on the phone told her to come in if the symptoms became severe.
“She was afraid,” Daniel said.
“And you were with her?”
“No. We spoke on the phone.”
“Where were you?”
“At my parents' house.”
“Why?”
He looked away.
“They had taken my phone earlier that week.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because they found out I had been seeing Teagan.”
That was another piece I had never known.
Daniel's parents had forbidden him from seeing her after learning about the pregnancy. They had threatened to send him to stay with relatives several hours away.
“He told me he'd come back,” Daniel said. “But that night I couldn't get out.”
Lucas was silent.
Then he asked, “Did Mom know?”
“Yes.”
“Did she blame you?”
“No.”
Daniel's answer came quickly.
“She blamed herself.”
I looked at him.
“For what?”
“For getting pregnant. For worrying you. For making everything complicated.”
I closed my eyes.
My daughter had carried guilt that never belonged to her.
Daniel continued.
“She told me she was going to be okay. She said she'd call me after the baby was born.”
“She never called.”
“No.”
“Because she died.”
“Yes.”
The field fell silent.
A gust of wind pushed dry leaves across the pavement.
Lucas looked at the glove again.
“Why did you keep that?”
Daniel rubbed his thumb along the worn leather.
“Because it was the only thing I had left from her.”
“You could have come to see me.”
“I know.”
“You could have found Grandma.”
“I know.”
“You could have done something.”
Daniel's face tightened.
“I know.”
Lucas turned away.
I wanted to tell him that anger was reasonable.
Instead, I said nothing.
Sometimes a person needs room to decide what they feel before someone else names it for them.
Daniel reached into his jacket.
“There is something else.”
He pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
“I found this after Teagan died.”
I stared at it.
“What is it?”
“A note she wrote to me.”
“Why didn't you give it to me?”
“I didn't know where you were.”
“You knew the city.”
“I was seventeen, Margaret. I was terrified. My parents were telling me I'd ruined my life. Teagan was dead. There was a baby I didn't know how to hold. I made the worst choice of my life.”
He handed me the paper.
I unfolded it carefully.
Teagan's handwriting covered both sides.
Daniel had kept it for ten years.
The note was short.
She wrote that she wanted him to meet Lucas someday.
But she also wrote something that made me stop breathing.
She said she had discovered something during her pregnancy that she had not yet been able to understand.
Something about her own health.
Something she wanted checked after the birth.
There was no explanation.
Only one sentence beneath it.
If anything happens to me, please make sure Mom asks the hospital for my records.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
“Why didn't you tell me this existed?”
Daniel looked ashamed.
“I didn't know what it meant.”
“You had ten years.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That if I came back, you would blame me for her death.”
I looked at him.
“I might have.”
“I know.”
“And now?”
“Now I know she was sick before she went into labor.”
Lucas stepped closer.
“What does the note mean?”
I folded it.
“I don't know.”
Daniel looked at me.
“You should get the records.”
That was the moment I decided we would.
Not because I wanted someone to blame.
Because Teagan had asked us to look.
We left the baseball field without saying much.
Lucas sat beside me in the car, staring through the window.
After several minutes, he said, “Do you hate him?”
I glanced at him.
“No.”
“Are you angry?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
“That’s okay.”
He nodded.
Then he looked down at the glove.
“Can I keep that?”
Daniel had given it to him before we left.
“Yes.”
Lucas held it carefully in his lap.
For the first time, I understood that he wasn't looking for a replacement father.
He was looking for pieces of his mother.
And somewhere inside those hospital records, I suspected one of those pieces was waiting.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The Hospital Records Contained a Detail I Had Forgotten, and Suddenly Teagan’s Death Looked Less Like a Tragedy Nobody Could Have Prevented
The Baby Survived, But the Doctor’s First Words Left Me Realizing My Daughter Was Never Coming Home
Part 5 of 20
