Chapter 5 - The Doctor Who Never Treated Me
Dr. Evan Holloway had never examined me.
Yet he had my records.
He ran the fertility clinic where Rebecca spent three years trying to conceive.
Helen adored him.
She called him “the only person who understood what Rebecca had lost.”
Police questioned him.
He denied everything.
Then investigators showed him the handwritten note.
His attorney ended the interview.
That told us plenty.
A subpoena uncovered dozens of calls between Holloway and Helen.
But almost none between Holloway and Rebecca.
Why was my mother talking privately to my sister’s fertility doctor?
Then Rebecca asked to speak to me.
Alone.
I refused.
Detective Pierce suggested a monitored conversation.
So I went.
Rebecca sat across from me without makeup.
For once, she didn’t look polished.
She looked frightened.
“Did you know Mom planned to throw Lily?”
“No.”
“You blocked me.”
“I thought she was going to scare you.”
“With my newborn?”
Rebecca started crying.
“I didn’t know.”
“Then explain the guardianship petition.”
She looked away.
“Mom told me you were having postpartum problems.”
“You saw me.”
“She said you hid it.”
“Rebecca.”
“I wanted to believe her.”
That sentence mattered.
Not because it excused anything.
Because it exposed what Rebecca had been doing for years.
Believing whatever made her the victim.
“Why did you stop fertility treatments?”
Her face changed.
“How do you know?”
“Answer.”
Rebecca looked toward the observation mirror.
Then whispered:
“Dr. Holloway told me I couldn’t safely carry a pregnancy.”
My anger faltered.
She had a rare uterine condition.
Another pregnancy could cause catastrophic complications.
She stopped treatment.
But Helen refused to accept it.
“She kept saying doctors were wrong.”
“Why pretend you were still trying?”
“Because Mom became unbearable whenever I talked about stopping.”
Then Rebecca admitted something stranger.
Six months into my pregnancy, Helen began telling her:
“Don’t worry. You’ll still have your daughter.”
Rebecca assumed Helen meant adoption.
Holloway even discussed private placement options.
Then Helen became specific.
She started referring to Lily as if she would eventually live with Rebecca.
Rebecca objected.
But not enough.
Because part of her wanted it.
That was the ugliest truth.
“I hated myself for wanting your baby,” she whispered.
I stared.
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
“And you helped Mom build a case against me.”
Rebecca cried harder.
“Yes.”
She photographed me looking exhausted.
Saved angry texts I sent after sleepless nights.
Recorded me saying motherhood was overwhelming.
Ordinary moments turned into evidence.
Then she said:
“But I never agreed to hurt you.”
“What was supposed to happen at the shower?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Mom said she would create an incident.”
“What kind?”
“She said Lily would be safe.”
My stomach turned.
“She said everyone would see you panic. Then Dr. Holloway would document that you were unstable.”
“Why the fire?”
“I didn’t know about the fire.”
Then I remembered her whispered call.
“They weren’t supposed to survive this.”
Rebecca shook her head violently.
“I wasn’t talking about you and Lily.”
“Then who?”
“Mom and Dad.”
I froze.
Rebecca explained.
After Dad saved Lily, she called Holloway.
Not Helen.
She said:
“They weren’t supposed to survive this.”
“What did you mean?”
Rebecca looked directly at me.
“Their marriage.”
I frowned.
She swallowed.
“Dr. Holloway told me the shower was supposed to finally make Dad leave Mom.”
Nothing made sense.
“Why would your fertility doctor care whether our parents divorced?”
Rebecca stared at me.
“Because Evan Holloway isn’t just my doctor.”
May you like
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“He’s Mom’s son.”
