I called Allison before telling anyone else.
When I said the initials, she went completely silent.
“Those are my initials.”
“I know.”
“Where did you find them?”
“In Teagan's notebook.”
Another pause.
“Margaret, I never hurt your daughter.”
“I didn't say you did.”
“But you think I know something.”
“I think Teagan wrote your initials for a reason.”
Allison exhaled.
“She did.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Then tell me.”
“I couldn't before.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of Victor?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Myself.”
I didn't understand.
She agreed to meet us.
We returned to the hospital.
Allison chose an empty consultation room.
When she arrived, she carried a small folder.
“I should have told you ten years ago.”
Daniel sat beside Lucas.
I remained standing.
“What did Teagan ask you to do?”
Allison placed the folder on the table.
“She asked me to help her.”
“With what?”
“Getting a copy of her medical records.”
I stared at her.
“She already had access to them.”
“She wanted a copy that couldn't be changed.”
“Why?”
“She believed someone had been accessing her information.”
“That was Emily.”
Allison shook her head.
“Emily wasn't the only person.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Who else?”
“I don't know.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I printed her records.”
“When?”
“The morning she went into labor.”
I looked at Daniel.
“This is why your initials were in her notebook.”
Allison nodded.
“She wrote them because she wanted to remember who helped her.”
That changed everything.
“You weren't the person she feared.”
“No.”
“You were helping her.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did she erase your name?”
Allison looked down.
“She didn't.”
“What?”
“Someone else did.”
The room went quiet.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
She explained that Teagan had written Allison's initials because Allison had agreed to make copies of the records.
But shortly before Teagan was taken into the delivery room, the notebook disappeared from her belongings.
When it was returned, several pages had been altered.
“Who had access?”
“Staff.”
“Visitors?”
“Possibly.”
“Family?”
“Daniel's parents weren't there.”
“Victor?”
“I didn't see him.”
“Sarah?”
“She was outside.”
I asked the question that mattered.
“Could the notebook have been altered by someone trying to hide Allison's involvement?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone discovered I had copied the records, they might ask questions.”
I sat down.
“Did you give Teagan the copies?”
“Yes.”
“Where are they?”
Allison looked at Daniel.
“She gave them to someone.”
“Who?”
“I thought she gave them to you.”
I shook my head.
“I never received them.”
“Then they're missing.”
The missing records suddenly mattered.
Not because they would necessarily prove medical wrongdoing.
Because they might show exactly what Teagan knew before she died.
Allison told us that Teagan had asked her to copy three things.
Her prenatal records.
The consultation report.
And one page from her hospital admission.
“The last page,” Allison said.
“What was on it?”
“I don't remember.”
“Try.”
She closed her eyes.
“It had a notation about a visitor.”
My heart began pounding.
“What visitor?”
“I don't know.”
“Was there a name?”
“I think so.”
“What?”
“I remember two initials.”
My breath caught.
“Which?”
Allison looked at me.
“V.H.”
Victor Hale.
But Allison immediately added, “That doesn't mean he entered the room.”
“Then what did the notation say?”
“I think it said someone had attempted to obtain information.”
Daniel stood.
“Victor was there.”
“I don't know.”
“But the initials.”
“Could refer to him.”
“Could?”
“Yes.”
We had learned that lesson already.
Initials were clues.
Not proof.
Allison opened her folder.
Inside was a copy of the page.
I recognized the hospital formatting.
The entry said that a person connected to the family had requested information about the patient.
The request had been denied.
There was no signature.
No confirmation of identity.
No evidence that the person had entered Teagan's room.
But the time was important.
The request had occurred less than an hour before Teagan's condition deteriorated.
Daniel stared at the page.
“My father?”
“Possibly.”
Victor?
Possibly.
Someone else?
Also possible.
I asked Allison whether she remembered Teagan's final conversation.
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked whether the copies were safe.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That they were.”
“Did she say where she was sending them?”
Allison hesitated.
“Yes.”
My pulse quickened.
“Where?”
“She said, ‘My mother will know what to do.’”
I stared at her.
“She planned to give them to me.”
“Yes.”
“But she didn't.”
“No.”
“Then where did they go?”
Allison looked toward Lucas.
“She gave them to someone before she was taken away.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
I thought about the envelope.
The safe-deposit box.
The storage unit.
The key.
The documents.
Everything Teagan had hidden.
Then I remembered Raymond's words.
She had given him something.
But perhaps not everything.
I called Raymond.
He answered.
“Did Teagan ever give you medical records?”
“Yes.”
My heart stopped.
“Which ones?”
“Copies.”
“Where are they?”
“I still have them.”
“Why didn't you tell us?”
“Because she asked me not to.”
I closed my eyes.
“Raymond, she died ten years ago.”
“I know.”
“Where are they?”
He gave me an address.
It wasn't his house.
It was a locked office he had maintained for old cases.
We drove there that afternoon.
Inside a cabinet, he produced a sealed packet.
The copies matched Allison's description.
Prenatal records.
Consultation report.
Hospital admission page.
But there was one additional sheet.
A handwritten note.
Teagan's handwriting.
I read it.
If they ask about the baby, tell them nothing. If Mom asks why I was afraid, tell her to look at the last page.
I turned the papers over.
There was nothing else.
I looked at the hospital admission page.
The visitor notation was there.
Then I noticed a handwritten correction.
The initials had been changed.
Originally, it appeared to read V.H.
Someone had written over it.
Underneath, faintly visible, were different letters.
D.C.
Daniel stared at them.
“My father's initials.”
We all went silent.
But Raymond shook his head.
“Don't jump to that conclusion.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because your daughter's handwriting appears on the same page.”
I examined it.
She had written something in the margin.
A sentence so faint I nearly missed it.
It wasn't him.
I read it aloud.
Daniel's face went pale.
“If she wrote that, then she knew someone was being blamed who wasn't responsible.”
Lucas looked at me.
“Then who was it?”
Nobody answered.
The mystery had shifted again.
Teagan had known someone was trying to obtain her records.
She had feared people connected to Daniel's family.
She had documented Victor.
She had trusted Sarah.
She had asked Allison for help.
And now, in the final record we possessed, she had explicitly warned us not to blame Daniel's father.
I turned the page over.
At the bottom was a line written after the original notation.
One more name.
This one was unmistakable.
Sarah.
But beneath it, Teagan had added two words.
Not her.
I stared at the handwriting.
The person we had spent so long suspecting was not the person Teagan feared.
And that meant the real answer was still hidden somewhere in the records we had not yet found.
Click here to continue reading: PART 17: The Name Hidden Under the Hospital Notation Finally Came Into Focus, and It Was Someone We Had Overlooked
The Baby Survived, But the Doctor’s First Words Left Me Realizing My Daughter Was Never Coming Home
Part 16 of 20
