“That explains how she got past the security desk,” Margaret said. “And how she might have obtained the login credentials.”

She tapped her phone screen again, writing a message.

“I am going to request the surveillance footage from the pediatric wing,” Margaret said.

“They will say it is a privacy violation,” I said.

“Not if I file an emergency motion under the trust’s protective provisions,” Margaret said.

“The grandfather’s clause gives me the authority to audit any facility treating the beneficiaries.”

“The babies are the beneficiaries,” I said.

“Exactly,” Margaret said.

She walked to the door and opened it slightly, speaking to the guard outside.

I watched her back, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and terror.

I was a prisoner in this bed, tied to machines, while my husband dismantled my reputation.

My phone, which had been silenced on the bedside table, began to buzz.

The screen lit up with a call from my mother.

Then another from a number I did not recognize.

Then a text message from a local reporter.

I turned it face down.

“Don’t look at it,” Margaret said, turning back into the room.