the shared household number.”
Victor looked toward the open prenatal file on the dining table.
He realized too late that he had left it there.
Celeste spoke quickly.
“Maya canceled those appointments herself.”
“Actually,” I said, “the clinic’s call log shows a man canceled two of them using Victor’s number.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
“You had no right to access her medical information.”
“Maya signed a release before we came downstairs.”
He turned to her.
“You signed something while drugged and confused?”
The room went still.
Maya’s head lifted.
The senior officer looked at Victor.
“What drugs?”
Victor’s mouth opened, then closed.
Celeste stepped in immediately.
“He means pregnancy medication.
Vitamins.
She hasn’t been sleeping.”
The advocate watched Maya carefully.
“Has anyone given you medication you did not request?”
Maya looked from Victor to Celeste.
“Celeste brings me tea every night,” she said.
“She says it helps me sleep.”
My eyes moved to the cup the advocate had carried downstairs.
Peppermint tea.
Untouched.
Victor scoffed.
“Now tea is abuse? This is absurd.”
The officer asked Maya whether she felt dizzy after drinking it.
“Sometimes,” she said.
“Heavy.
I thought it was the pregnancy.”
Celeste folded her arms.
“It is herbal tea.
Nothing more.”
The officer placed the cup and saucer into separate evidence bags.
For the first time, Celeste looked frightened.
The change was tiny but unmistakable.
Her nails stopped tapping.
Her lips parted.
Her eyes went to Victor.
He saw it too.
“Mother,” he said quietly.
“Do not be ridiculous,” she snapped.
The officers permitted Victor to collect clothes, toiletries, and work materials under supervision.
Celeste followed him upstairs until she was told to remain in the foyer.
She paced beside the glass table, whispering about reputations, lawsuits, and judicial misconduct.
I ignored her.
Maya sat on the bottom stair with the advocate.
I knelt several feet away.
“May I come closer?” I asked.
She nodded.
I sat beside her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For not telling you.”
“You told me when you could.”
“I should have left sooner.”
“Leaving is not a door people simply walk through.
Sometimes it is a wall they have to dismantle piece by piece.”
Her eyes filled.
“I thought you would be ashamed of me.”
“Never.”
She leaned into my shoulder, and I held her carefully.
Upstairs, a drawer slammed.
Then the officer shouted, “Stop.
Put that down.”
Victor appeared at the top of the staircase holding a small external hard drive.
“It belongs to my firm,” he said.
The officer took it from him.
“You were told to gather essential personal items, not remove electronic devices from the nursery cabinet.”
Maya pulled away from me.
“That was inside the locked cabinet?”
Victor said nothing.
She looked at the advocate.
“He keeps my old phone in there.
And copies of my messages.”
The officer asked Victor for the cabinet key.
“There is no key.”
Maya pointed toward his leather briefcase.
“Inside the side pocket.”
Victor’s face tightened.
The key was exactly where she said it would be.
Inside the cabinet, officers found Maya’s previous phone, two memory cards, printed copies of her private messages, and a folder labeled with dates and descriptions of her behavior.
Crying after dinner.
Refused medication.
Called mother without permission.
Attempted to leave during argument.
The notes were
