Chapter 6 - What the Birthday Video Revealed

The police interviewed Celia Knox on a rainy Wednesday.

I wasn't there. Priya called afterward and reminded me that an interview was not a finding of guilt. Still, the account she relayed was important. Celia acknowledged attending the notary's office with Trevor Sloan. She claimed she'd been instructed to deliver a packet and had not realized it identified her as me. Investigators were comparing that claim with the identity documents and recording.

"She hasn't said who prepared the forged ID," Priya told me.

"But she knew I wasn't there."

"That appears clear. What she knew about the purpose of the paperwork remains under investigation."

Noah was asleep on my chest when the call ended. I watched the rain draw uneven lines down the window and tried to understand how people could handle another person's home as though it were a number on a spreadsheet.

Mara came from the kitchen with a mug of tea. "Don't let the case consume every hour," she said. "You need your strength back."

"I don't know how to rest when I don't know what Jake will do."

"Then we make a plan for the things we can control. And for the things we can't, we let the lawyers do their jobs."

We wrote down the next appointments: my postoperative check, Noah's pediatric visit, a meeting with Priya. Mara taped the list beside the refrigerator. It should have felt childish. Instead, seeing the days laid out made the future seem possible.

At the end of the week, Priya said Jake had retained counsel and requested temporary parenting time. The question would be addressed in court, with the documented emergency and Noah's needs considered. I didn't want to speak badly of Jake simply because I was angry; I wanted the facts made clear. He had left knowing I was bleeding heavily. Our newborn had been left in danger because I lost consciousness.

"I'm afraid he'll convince someone I kept Noah away out of spite," I admitted.

"Then we show the records," Priya replied. "And we tell the truth without embellishing it."

That afternoon, Mara noticed a small detail in Jake's Aspen video. She had watched it before, but this time she paused when someone walked behind him carrying a folder. The camera swung, catching Trevor near the balcony door. On the folder was the development company's distinctive mountain logo.

"He said the trip was only a celebration," I murmured.

"It proves Trevor was at the resort," Mara said. "Not why he was there. But the travel receipts might connect them to a meeting."

She sent the original video and screenshot to Priya, who advised us not to publicly accuse anyone based on a partial image.

My mother's cabin came back to me every time I closed my eyes. I remembered the rough stone steps down to the lake, the chipped enamel kettle, the narrow bed beneath a window where rain sounded like applause. Jake had proposed on the dock, holding my hands and promising we would build a family there someday. Now the place had become a line item in a disputed loan.

I went through the photographs on my phone and found one from that weekend. Jake stood beside me, laughing. I looked genuinely happy. For a long time I stared at the picture, trying to decide whether it had been a lie.

Mara sat beside me.

"That happiness was real for you," she said. "It doesn't become fake because he betrayed it."

The words steadied something inside me.

On Friday, Diane came to the apartment building. She couldn't get past the front desk, but she left a note with the receptionist. I recognized her careful handwriting.

Please remember that Jake loves Noah. Don't punish a baby for the mistakes adults make.

I read it twice, then tucked it into the file with the other messages. She was right about one thing: Noah should not suffer for adults' choices. That was why I had asked for professional guidance instead of letting Jake decide the rules of our family with a late-night phone call.

At my medical follow-up, the surgeon told me the healing was progressing as expected. There would be fatigue, and I needed to watch for warning signs, but the immediate danger had passed. I asked whether I could have known earlier how serious the bleeding would become.

"You recognized something abnormal and asked for care," she said. "That was exactly the right response."

I carried those words home carefully.

I had spent so much time hearing that I overreacted that I almost needed permission to trust my own body.

That evening, Priya forwarded records received from the Aspen resort under a lawful request. Trevor had reserved a private conference room during the weekend. Jake's name appeared on the attendee list beside representatives of the lender. A scheduling email referred to the newly secured funds.

It wasn't proof of every allegation. But it showed the party weekend had included business discussions over financing tied to my property.

I stared at the timestamp on the meeting record. It was the same afternoon Jake posted the video that I watched while bleeding on the nursery floor.

He had been drinking on a balcony and negotiating a project whose security depended on paperwork I never signed.

Then another email from Jake appeared.

I didn't know you were that sick. If you had told me, I would have stayed.

I felt a wave of anger so clean and sharp that it surprised me.

I opened the hospital's discharge instructions and found his electronic acknowledgment. I forwarded both to Priya. I did not answer Jake.

The next morning, his attorney sent word that Jake intended to testify that I had never asked him for emergency help.

For a moment my breath stopped.

Then Mara placed the police statement beside the phone.

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"You told the truth before he ever knew what evidence we'd found," she said.

And on the nursery floor, before I lost consciousness, my phone had captured more than I realized.