Chapter 3 - The Godmother’s Gift
I watched the video three times.
Not because I needed to understand what Claire had done.
I watched because some part of me still could not accept that the woman smiling toward the basement camera was the same woman who had held my hand at my mother’s funeral.
Claire had slept on the floor beside my bed when grief made it impossible for me to be alone.
She had helped me choose my wedding dress.
She had cried when Damon and I told her we were expecting a baby.
Now she was drugging my tea and waiting for me to become too confused to protect myself.
I forwarded the footage to the secure account and deleted the message notification from my phone.
Then I sat in the nursery until dawn, listening to Damon sleep in the room across the hall.
At six thirty, he appeared in the doorway wearing a gray suit.
“You’re awake early.”
“The baby wouldn’t stop moving.”
His eyes dropped to my stomach.
For the first time, I wondered whether he had ever truly loved our daughter.
Perhaps he loved the idea of being her father.
Perhaps he loved the control her birth would give him.
But a man who loved his child would never drug the woman carrying her.
“I’ll make your tea,” he said.
“I’m nauseous.”
“It might help.”
“I don’t want any.”
Damon studied me.
I smiled tiredly.
“The smell bothered me yesterday.”
That answer satisfied him.
“Whatever you need.”
He kissed my cheek, collected his briefcase, and left for work.
The moment his car disappeared, I called my obstetrician’s private line.
Dr. Priya Patel had delivered babies for members of my family for nearly twenty years. She was direct, careful, and almost impossible to intimidate.
When I told her I needed an appointment without the information appearing in the ordinary patient portal, she did not ask questions over the phone.
“Come through the staff entrance at ten,” she said.
“Tell no one.”
“I won’t.”
I brought the laboratory results, the video, and the legal documents.
Dr. Patel watched the footage without interrupting. Her face remained controlled until Claire poured the contents of the amber bottle into my tea.
Then her mouth tightened.
“What exactly did the laboratory identify?”
“Zolpidem and a low dose of clonazepam.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Were either prescribed to you?”
“No.”
“Have you experienced fainting, confusion, memory loss, or unusual fatigue?”
“All of them.”
“How often were you drinking that tea?”
“Most mornings.”
Dr. Patel immediately ordered blood work, liver tests, and a detailed fetal assessment. She also asked a toxicologist to review the private laboratory report.
“The levels may no longer be detectable,” she explained. “But we will document everything. More importantly, I need you away from that house.”
“I can’t leave yet.”
“You can.”
“If I suddenly leave, Damon will know I found something. He may destroy the records or do something unpredictable.”
“He has already exposed you and the baby to prescription medication.”
“I understand.”
“No, Natalie. I don’t think you do.”
Dr. Patel pulled her chair closer.
“This is not marital conflict. This is poisoning.”
The word landed harder than I expected.
Poisoning.
Not an affair.
Not manipulation.
Not a misunderstanding.
Damon and Claire had intentionally placed medication into something I consumed while pregnant.
“I need enough evidence to stop him permanently,” I said.
“You also need to remain alive.”
“I will not eat or drink anything he prepares. I’ll keep my phone with me. Owen knows everything.”
“Owen?”
“Claire’s fiancé.”
Dr. Patel leaned back.
“This situation becomes more dangerous the moment your husband realizes the two betrayed spouses are communicating.”
“He won’t find out.”
“You cannot guarantee that.”
She was right.
But leaving immediately had risks too.
Damon could petition the court, claiming I was experiencing a psychiatric crisis. He had already prepared the documents, the doctors, and the narrative.
If I disappeared while pregnant, he could tell everyone I had become paranoid and unstable.
I needed to dismantle his plan before he had the chance to activate it.
Dr. Patel reluctantly agreed to help.
She added a confidential note to my medical record stating that I was alert, oriented, emotionally stable, and capable of making independent medical decisions. She also documented that I had reported suspected nonconsensual exposure to sedatives.
Then she handed me a card.
“This is the direct number for hospital security. I am also placing a password on your medical information. No one receives updates unless they provide it.”
“What password?”
“You choose.”
I thought about Claire hiding behind my maternity coats.
“Blue charm,” I said.
Dr. Patel nodded.
“Anyone who does not know those words gets nothing.”
The baby’s ultrasound was normal.
Hearing her heartbeat brought tears to my eyes.
“She’s strong,” Dr. Patel said.
“She has to be.”
“So do you.”
When I left the clinic, I drove directly to the office of Leah Benton, the attorney who had managed my mother’s estate.
Leah was in her late fifties, with silver hair cut sharply at her jaw and the calm voice of someone who had spent decades speaking to frightened people.
She did not appear shocked by Damon’s documents.
That frightened me more than surprise would have.
“Your husband requested copies of your trust agreement two months ago,” she said.
“He did what?”
“He claimed you had authorized him to review succession provisions before the birth.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“We did.”
“I never received a call.”
Leah turned her computer monitor toward me.
Her office had called my home number three times.
According to the records, someone answered twice and stated that I was resting.
The third call had been returned by a man identifying himself as my personal representative.
Victor Hale.
“I never appointed him,” I said.
“I know that now.”
Leah opened a file.
“Victor sent us a signed authorization.”
The signature looked like mine.
It was not.
“He forged it.”
“That would be my conclusion.”
“What information did you give him?”
“Only an older public summary. We refused to release confidential schedules without direct confirmation from you.”
“So he doesn’t have the entire agreement?”
“Not from us.”
I told Leah about the messages, the sedatives, and the proposed incapacity documents.
By the time I finished, she had already begun making notes.
“The controlling shares vest upon the live birth of your first child,” she said. “If you are incapacitated at that moment, a properly appointed representative could exercise temporary voting authority.”
“That is what Damon wants.”
“Possibly. But your current documents appoint the independent trust committee, not your spouse.”
“He wants me to replace them with himself.”
“Yes.”
“What can we do?”
“First, we make it impossible.”
Leah prepared an emergency amendment stating that under no circumstances would Damon, Victor, Claire, or any agent acting on their behalf receive authority over my shares.
If I became incapacitated, control would pass temporarily to three people: Leah, my cousin Rebecca, and the company’s independent board chair.
None could act alone.
She also drafted a revocation of every document Damon might claim I had signed.
“Second,” Leah said, “we arrange safe housing.”
“I’m not leaving today.”
Her eyes met mine.
“Dr. Patel called me.”
I almost smiled.
“Of course she did.”
“She did not disclose medical information. She told me only that remaining in your home was dangerous.”
“I need time.”
“How much?”
“Until the baby shower.”
The shower was scheduled for Saturday, four days away.
Claire had organized nearly every detail.
She believed it would be her final performance as my loyal best friend before the plan moved into its next stage.
Leah did not like my decision, but she understood the strategic value.
“If you remain in the house, we install additional cameras today,” she said. “You wear a recording device. You do not eat anything you did not open yourself. And you keep a packed bag in your car.”
“I can do that.”
“You also contact the police.”
“Not yet.”
“Natalie—”
“The lab report came from a private sample. The video shows Claire contaminating tea, but we need to establish exactly what was inside the bottle and who instructed her. Damon will claim she acted alone.”
“And Claire will claim the bottle contained vitamins.”
“Exactly.”
Leah’s expression hardened.
“You are thinking like your mother.”
“That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me in months.”
My mother had never trusted appearances. She said wealthy families did not experience fewer betrayals than ordinary families. They simply had more expensive methods of hiding them.
By that evening, two security technicians had entered my house disguised as nursery-furniture installers.
They placed small cameras in the hallway, kitchen, nursery, study, and bedroom. Every recording uploaded automatically to an external server Damon could not access.
One technician installed a silent emergency button beneath the nursery changing table.
Another gave me a pendant containing a microphone.
Damon returned home while they were assembling the crib.
He seemed pleased.
“You finally chose one.”
“I thought it was time.”
He watched the technicians carefully.
I held my breath.
Then one of them handed him a manufacturer’s booklet and complained about missing screws.
Damon lost interest immediately.
That night, he tried to convince me to sign the documents again.
“I don’t want this hanging over us,” he said.
“Leah Benton is reviewing them.”
His expression froze.
“You contacted Leah?”
“She handles my trust.”
“I thought we agreed to use someone neutral.”
“We never agreed to that.”
Damon walked toward the window.
“You don’t trust my judgment.”
“I trust professionals to review professional documents.”
He turned around.
“Victor is a professional.”
“I didn’t realize Victor drafted them.”
A mistake.
For half a second, Damon looked alarmed.
Then he recovered.
“His name is printed on the papers.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“I told you he helped.”
“No, you said someone in the legal department helped.”
The room became silent.
Damon smiled, but his eyes did not.
“Pregnancy brain.”
There it was again.
The phrase he used whenever facts became inconvenient.
I smiled back.
“You’re probably right.”
Later, I lay beside him and listened as he sent Claire a message through the hidden account.
She contacted Benton. We may need to accelerate.
Claire responded almost immediately.
The shower gives us the perfect opportunity. She’ll eat and drink whatever I hand her in front of everyone.
Damon wrote:
Not yet. We need her functional enough to sign.
My hand rested over the recording pendant beneath my nightshirt.
Every word was being preserved.
The following morning, Owen called from a disposable number.
He had discovered that Claire transferred the missing wedding money through two shell companies. The final recipient was a consulting firm owned by Victor Hale’s brother.
“Damon is paying for something,” Owen said.
“Doctors, legal work, perhaps the facility.”
“There’s more. Claire used my identity to guarantee one of the payments.”
“You need to freeze everything.”
“I already did. She doesn’t know yet.”
“Be careful.”
“You too.”
“Has she behaved differently?”
“She keeps asking whether I’ll be home Saturday night after the shower.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer stayed with me.
Saturday arrived under a sky filled with heavy gray clouds.
By noon, nearly forty guests had gathered inside my home. Pink and cream balloons surrounded the staircase. A dessert table filled the dining room. A sign above the fireplace read:
WELCOME, BABY MERCER.
Claire moved among the guests wearing a pale blue dress and the same diamond ring I had seen through the closet door.
She hugged me repeatedly.
She touched my stomach without asking.
She introduced herself to several of Damon’s coworkers as “the future godmother.”
Watching her perform affection was almost unbearable.
“You need to sit,” she told me loudly enough for everyone to hear. “You’ve been so tired and confused lately.”
“I’ve been feeling much better.”
Claire’s smile flickered.
“That’s wonderful.”
She handed me a glass of fruit punch.
I accepted it, waited until she turned away, and placed it untouched on a side table.
Owen arrived twenty minutes later.
Claire’s face changed when she saw him.
“I thought you had a meeting.”
“It ended early.”
She kissed his cheek.
Owen looked at me over her shoulder.
Neither of us showed recognition.
Damon entered from the patio and greeted Owen with a handshake.
For one strange moment, the four of us stood together beneath the baby-shower sign.
Two betrayers.
Two people who knew.
And an unborn child at the center of a plan none of the smiling guests could imagine.
After lunch, Claire asked everyone to gather in the living room.
She held up a small wrapped box.
“This is my gift to my goddaughter.”
Inside was a silver music box decorated with tiny blue birds.
“It plays the song Natalie and I used to sing in college,” she explained.
Several guests sighed affectionately.
Claire knelt beside my chair.
“No matter what happens,” she said softly, “I will always take care of this little girl.”
The threat was hidden beneath a perfect smile.
I touched the recording pendant.
“I know exactly how much you want to be part of her life.”
Claire’s eyes held mine.
For a second, I thought she understood.
Then Damon called for a toast, and the moment passed.
An hour later, I noticed Claire disappear upstairs.
Damon followed separately.
I waited thirty seconds and excused myself.
The hallway camera streamed directly to my phone.
Claire entered the nursery.
Damon closed the door behind him.
I moved into the guest room next door and placed an earbud in one ear.
Their conversation came through the hidden microphone.
“You said Owen would be gone,” Damon whispered.
“He changed his schedule.”
“Did you check his phone?”
“I’m not his prison guard.”
“You were supposed to keep him distracted.”
“I’ve done everything you asked.”
“Lower your voice.”
“I stole money from him. I entered this house. I put pills in her tea. Now you’re acting like I’m the problem.”
My hands gripped the phone.
It was the first clear verbal confession.
Damon answered coldly.
“You knew what you were doing.”
“I knew you were leaving her.”
“I am.”
“When?”
“After the documents are signed.”
“She contacted Benton.”
“I’ll handle Benton.”
“What if Natalie refuses?”
“She won’t.”
“You sound very confident.”
“Because she still believes the dizziness is pregnancy-related.”
“Not anymore.”
Silence followed.
“What does that mean?” Damon asked.
Claire’s voice changed.
“I saw her at the pharmacy parking lot.”
My heart stopped.
“With who?”
“I couldn’t see at first. Then the man stepped out of the coffee shop.”
“Owen?”
“Yes.”
“How long were they together?”
“Almost an hour.”
Damon cursed.
“You said she didn’t know.”
“I said I cleaned the bedroom.”
“What about the camisole?”
“I took it.”
“Did she see you leave?”
“No.”
“Then why would she meet Owen?”
“I don’t know.”
Damon began pacing.
“What did she tell him?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“You need to find out.”
“How?”
“Search the nursery. She keeps everything in here.”
Claire opened drawers.
I watched through the camera as she searched blankets, baskets, and storage boxes.
Then she reached beneath the changing table.
Her fingers moved dangerously close to the emergency button.
Damon opened the closet.
For one terrible second, he looked directly toward the hidden camera.
Then he turned away.
Claire stopped moving.
“What is that?” she asked.
She had noticed a thin wire beneath the bookshelf.
The technician had concealed it behind the molding, but one edge had come loose.
Damon walked over.
He touched the wire.
Then he looked toward the small wooden bird mounted above the crib.
The camera was hidden inside its eye.
My pulse thundered.
Damon reached toward it.
Before his fingers made contact, Claire grabbed his arm.
“Someone is coming.”
Footsteps moved through the hallway.
Owen’s voice sounded outside the nursery.
“Claire?”
She pulled the door open.
“What are you doing up here?” Owen asked.
“Looking for Natalie’s sweater.”
“In the nursery?”
Claire laughed nervously.
“Pregnancy has made her put things in strange places.”
Damon walked past Owen without speaking.
Claire followed, but before leaving the room, she turned toward the wooden bird.
Her expression was no longer uncertain.
She knew.
Downstairs, the party continued.
Guests opened gifts, ate cake, and took photographs.
Claire remained close to Owen.
Damon remained close to me.
Neither mentioned the camera.
That frightened me.
At six fifteen, the final guest left.
Owen took Claire home.
Damon locked the front door and turned off the porch lights.
“You should lie down,” he said.
“I think I will.”
I climbed the stairs slowly, aware of him walking behind me.
At the nursery door, he stopped.
“Did you enjoy today?”
“Yes.”
“Claire worked very hard.”
“She always does.”
I entered the nursery.
Damon remained in the hallway.
“Natalie?”
I turned.
“Are you hiding something from me?”
My mouth went dry.
“What would I be hiding?”
“I don’t know.”
He stepped inside and closed the door.
Then he reached into his pocket.
In his hand was the tiny camera from the wooden bird.
He had removed it after the party.
Damon looked at the device, then at me.
His smile was calm.
Almost gentle.
May you like
“Why don’t you tell me who has been watching us?”
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