“A small memorial.
Mark handled everything.”
“Did you receive a death certificate?”
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
I remembered a white envelope Mark had placed in a drawer.
He told me it contained the hospital paperwork.
I’d never opened it.
I couldn’t bear to.
“I don’t know.”
Miriam said nothing for several seconds.
Then she asked, “Where were you treated?”
“Briar County Memorial.
It closed years ago.”
“Do you remember your doctor’s name?”
“Dr.
Alan Whitcomb.”
She wrote it down.
I watched her pen move.
A strange feeling spread through me.
“Why are you asking?”
“Because your husband is threatening to use that history against you.
I want us to understand what records actually exist.”
I nodded.
At the time, I thought she was protecting my privacy.
I didn’t yet understand what that investigation would uncover.
Three days later, Mark made his first formal move against me.
