He slowly stopped trembling.

The panic in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness.

“You think you’ve caught me in a corner, don’t you?” Richard asked.

He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope.

He tossed it onto the table.

It slid across the polished wood, stopping right in front of Nathan.

“Open it,” Richard said.

Nathan hesitated, then reached out and tore the seal.

He pulled out a stack of medical reports, complete with official hospital letterheads.

I leaned over his shoulder to read the top page.

The words *Postpartum Psychosis* and *Involuntary Psychiatric Hold* were printed in bold black ink.

My name was listed as the patient.

“This is from the clinic where you stayed after your mother died, Emily,” Richard said, his voice dripping with malice.

“But I was never admitted,” I said, my heart starting to race.

“I only went there for grief counseling twice a week.”

“The records say you were admitted for severe auditory hallucinations,” Richard said.

“They say you threatened to harm yourself and your child.”

“These are fabricated!” Nathan shouted, his face turning red with anger.