Chapter 7 - WHEN AMERICA HEARD HIS REAL VOICE
For forty-seven seconds, nobody could tell me whether Evie was alive.
Forty-seven seconds is not a long time unless your child is inside a building where shots have just been fired.
Then the radio came back.
“Child secure.”
My knees gave out.
Rebecca caught me.
“Evie?”
The agent repeated.
“Female child, approximately four years old, secure.”
I cried.
Not quietly.
Not carefully.
I cried until Dr. Hart came running because someone thought I was in medical distress.
Sabrina was alive too.
The gunshots had come from Christian’s security contractor firing at federal agents from a rear hallway.
He was wounded.
Christian escaped through a maintenance tunnel beneath the old theater.
Of course he did.
But he left Evie behind.
That was his mistake.
Or perhaps his only act resembling mercy.
I refused to give him credit.
Evie was transported to a children’s hospital.
Sarah arrived two hours later.
I watched their reunion from the doorway.
Evie screamed “Mommy!” and launched herself into Sarah’s arms.
My heart broke and healed at the same time.
That was her mother.
Whatever blood existed between Evie and me, Sarah had kissed scraped knees.
Sarah had read bedtime stories.
Sarah had stayed awake through fevers.
Sarah had been there.
I would not steal that title because biology gave me a claim.
When Sarah finally looked at me, she held Evie closer.
Not possessively.
Instinctively.
I understood.
I approached slowly.
Evie stared at the bandages.
“You’re the phone lady.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
“Yes.”
“You know Mommy.”
“I do.”
Sarah knelt beside her.
“Evie, this is Genevieve.”
The little girl looked at me.
I wanted to tell her.
Every cell in my body wanted to say, I’m your mother.
But she had just survived a kidnapping.
Her world had already been shattered.
So I crouched.
“I’m very happy to meet you.”
Evie considered me.
Then pointed.
“What happened?”
“I got hurt.”
“Bad?”
“A little.”
She nodded solemnly.
Then handed me a hospital sticker.
“For hurt.”
I took it.
“Thank you.”
That was our first meeting.
Not a miraculous embrace.
Not instant recognition.
A sticker.
It was perfect.
Meanwhile, Christian disappeared.
Within six hours, his attorneys claimed he had been manipulated by Gabriel, extorted by Sabrina, and pushed into “a severe mental-health crisis” by false allegations.
By twelve hours, leaked photographs showed him entering a private jet two weeks earlier with Sabrina.
His publicists framed her as an obsessed former employee.
By twenty-four hours, conspiracy theories claimed my attack had been staged for publicity.
That one nearly impressed me.
Then Gabriel made a decision.
He entered my hospital room carrying his laptop.
“I want to release the recording.”
Rebecca looked up.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because prosecutors may need it uncontaminated.”
“They have originals.”
“Yes.”
“Then why protect him publicly?”
“We are not protecting him.”
Gabriel pointed toward the television.
Christian’s face covered every channel.
“He is using the silence.”
Rebecca crossed her arms.
“So?”
“So his fans are harassing Sabrina’s family.”
I looked at the screen.
Photos of me before the attack played beneath dramatic headlines.
FIANCÉE MISSING FROM PUBLIC VIEW.
QUESTIONS ABOUT PRESCOTT SCANDAL.
Gabriel continued.
“Evie’s name is going to leak.”
My stomach tightened.
“We need to control what happens next.”
Rebecca hated the phrase.
So did I.
Christian had controlled narratives for years.
I didn’t want to become another manipulator.
“Not all of it,” I said.
They looked at me.
“Release only his admission about the attack.”
Rebecca frowned.
“That is still a strategic decision.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because women are being called liars while Christian hides.”
I looked at Gabriel.
“Use his voice.”
At 7:00 p.m., Gabriel posted the recording through his verified professional account.
No dramatic caption.
No insults.
No explanation.
Just audio.
Christian:
I needed Genevieve to be physically incapable of appearing at the wedding.
Gabriel:
So you had a man throw acid in her face?
Christian:
I needed the story to work.
Then:
If she’s left scarred, even better.
Twenty minutes later, every major network carried it.
An hour later, Christian’s largest sponsor suspended him.
Two hours later, his record label issued a statement saying it was “deeply disturbed.”
Three hours later, a former assistant came forward.
Then another.
Then a makeup artist.
Then a tour dancer.
Not all alleged crimes.
Some described intimidation.
Threats.
Phones thrown.
Doors locked.
Nondisclosure agreements.
Christian’s image did not collapse in one dramatic explosion.
It cracked.
Then cracked again.
By morning, it was gone.
A federal arrest warrant was issued.
Christian remained missing.
The next bomb came from Dr. Lawson.
He surrendered through an attorney.
I watched his first court appearance from Sarah’s apartment.
Evie sat on the floor building a puzzle.
Sarah had invited me.
Not because she trusted me completely.
Because we both understood Christian might return.
And because she believed Evie deserved to know me eventually.
Lawson agreed to cooperate.
He admitted altering my treatment.
He admitted deliberately administering medications intended to destabilize my pregnancies.
He admitted falsifying records.
He admitted my third pregnancy had survived.
Then he named Richard Prescott.
Not as an accomplice.
As the man who stopped him.
Richard had threatened to expose Lawson.
That was why the baby had been transferred.
Claire Donovan agreed to become temporary guardian.
Richard planned to tell me after he secured evidence against Christian.
He never did.
Why?
Because Christian discovered part of the plan.
Three weeks after Evie’s birth, Richard’s car was forced off a rural road.
He survived.
At the time, police called it an accident.
Two months later, Richard left the country temporarily.
By the time he returned, Claire had moved with Evie.
He chose silence.
Fear won.
Years later, he tried again.
Christian cut him off.
I didn’t know whether to hate Richard or thank him.
Probably both.
Lawson also revealed something unexpected.
“He told Christian he had permanently damaged my fertility.”
Rebecca read the transcript aloud.
“But that was false.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Lawson says he lied.”
“Why?”
“After the third pregnancy, he refused to continue giving you the drugs.”
My stomach turned.
“So suddenly he developed a conscience?”
“No.”
Rebecca’s mouth tightened.
“Richard threatened him.”
Of course.
“He told Christian the treatments had made future pregnancy impossible so Christian would stop demanding additional intervention.”
I couldn’t speak.
“So am I…”
Rebecca shook her head.
“You need an independent specialist.”
“Could I still have children?”
“Possibly.”
The word hit me harder than I expected.
For years, Christian had taken pregnancy from me twice.
Then grief.
Then the belief that my body had failed.
Now I learned even that story had been engineered.
I went to the bathroom and cried alone.
Not because I suddenly needed a biological child to complete my life.
Evie existed.
Sarah existed.
Leo existed.
There were already children whose lives had become entangled with mine.
I cried because choice had been stolen.
Again.
That evening, Evie found me sitting on the porch.
She climbed onto the chair beside me.
“Why sad?”
Kids ask dangerous questions with no warning.
“I found out somebody lied to me.”
“Christian?”
My chest tightened.
She knew his name.
“Yes.”
“He’s bad.”
I looked at her.
“Sometimes people do very bad things.”
“Mommy says bad people can still sing good.”
I laughed despite myself.
“Your mommy is smart.”
Evie studied the uncovered portion of my face.
Dr. Hart had reduced the bandaging.
The right cheek remained red and healing.
“Will it stay?”
“Some of it.”
She touched her own cheek.
“Does that make you sad?”
“Sometimes.”
She thought.
Then shrugged.
“I got scar.”
She lifted her knee.
Tiny white line.
“Bike.”
“Very dangerous.”
She nodded.
“Mommy cried more.”
Sarah called from inside, “I heard that.”
Evie giggled.
Then looked at me.
“Can I ask?”
“Anything.”
“Are you my other mommy?”
The world stopped.
I looked toward the doorway.
Sarah stood there.
She didn’t rescue me.
This was mine to answer.
I turned back to Evie.
“I’m the woman who had you in her tummy.”
Her eyes widened.
Like that was extraordinary science.
“And Mommy?”
“Sarah is your mommy.”
“Two?”
“If you want.”
She considered.
“Like Emma has two dads?”
“Yes.”
That answer seemed acceptable.
“Okay.”
Then she slid off the chair and ran inside.
No tears.
No dramatic music.
Just okay.
Sarah joined me.
“I was terrified of that conversation.”
“So was I.”
“She’s almost four.”
“Apparently we overprepared.”
Sarah laughed.
Then her expression became serious.
“I’m not afraid you’ll take her.”
“I would never.”
“I know that now.”
That meant more than she understood.
My phone rang.
Gabriel.
I answered.
“What?”
His breathing sounded wrong.
“Genevieve.”
I stood.
“What happened?”
“We found Christian.”
“Where?”
A pause.
“Outside the clinic where your fertility records are stored.”
My blood went cold.
“Did police arrest him?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“He shot a security guard.”
I covered my mouth.
“Is the guard alive?”
“Yes.”
“Christian?”
“Gone again.”
I closed my eyes.
Gabriel continued.
“But he left something.”
“What?”
“A message on the wall.”
My skin prickled.
“What did it say?”
Three words.
May you like
Gabriel spoke them quietly.
FINISH THE WEDDING.
