Chapter 9 - The First Mother
Caroline’s mother—Lorraine’s own mother-in-law, Ruth Bennett—had been the first woman in the family to use psychiatric claims as a weapon.
Caroline explained it slowly.
“When Lorraine married my father, Ruth treated her like trash. After Mom had me, Ruth tried to take control of the household and threatened to have her declared unfit. Mom fought back.”
“So Lorraine became what was done to her,” I said.
Caroline nodded. “That’s the tragedy. And the excuse she gives herself.”
It did not make me forgive Lorraine.
But it made her more frightening.
People who know they are villains sometimes stop.
People who believe they are rescuers can justify anything.
We returned home with Caroline’s records and filed them with the court. Judge Carver recused himself within four hours.
For the first time, we had a win.
It lasted until breakfast the next morning.
I was at Maya’s apartment eating toast when a contraction folded me in half.
“Rachel?”
“I’m fine.”
“You are not fine.”
The second contraction came seven minutes later.
At thirty-five weeks.
By the time we reached the hospital, I was crying from pain and fear.
Dr. Park met us in triage. “You may be in preterm labor.”
Denise from compliance had already flagged my chart. Security knew Lorraine and Harlan were not allowed access.
I started to breathe again.
Then the admitting nurse frowned at her monitor.
“There’s an active court hold.”
Maya stepped closer. “From whom?”
“Temporary protective review pending mental-health assessment.”
“That order was challenged.”
“It was refiled in another county.”
My heart began racing.
The nurse lowered her voice. “It says the newborn is not to leave maternal observation until social services clears discharge.”
“That sounds safer,” Ethan said from behind us.
I turned.
He had followed us.
Maya snapped, “It also creates an opening for a transfer.”
The nurse looked confused. “What transfer?”
A young orderly passed the doorway, stopped, and came back.
“Ms. Bennett?”
“Yes?”
He glanced down the hall, then leaned closer.
“There’s a private neonatal ambulance waiting at the service entrance.”
My blood went cold.
“We didn’t call one.”
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“It has your baby’s name on the transport sheet.”
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