He told me I had miscarried because I had been careless.
I believed him.
For years, I believed him.
The doctor reached for my hand.
“Caroline, there is more.”
I looked at her.
“Your injuries are serious. But the imaging also revealed evidence of repeated trauma.”
My heart stopped.
“What kind?”
“Trauma consistent with injuries that occurred at different points in time.”
The nurse quietly placed another document on the table.
“These are not all from this week.”
I stared at the photographs of medical imaging.
Different dates.
Different injuries.
Different hospitals.
A pattern.
A history.
A record of everything Luke had tried to erase.
Then the doctor said something I never expected.
“Some of the previous records contain inconsistencies.”
“What kind?”
“Several of the doctors who supposedly treated you for infertility were not treating you for infertility at all.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
She turned another page.
“Some of the diagnoses appear to have been entered after the appointments.”
I stared at her.
“After?”
“Yes.”
My voice became barely audible.
“Who entered them?”
The doctor looked at the file.
“An outside billing service.”
I felt a chill move through me.
Luke had always handled my medical paperwork.
