My Husband Hung Up on Me the Night I Gave Birth novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Room 9

Erin hides in her classroom, finds the fake texts sent from her own phone, watches Gwen buy formula for a baby she doesn't have, and calls Ryan from the school phone.

I went to the only place I had a key to besides home: Lincoln Elementary, Room 9, where I taught art.

It was August, so the building was empty.

I paid the cab with the last cash in my cardigan pocket, locked myself in, and lay down under the drying racks.

On the classroom computer, I logged into my account and opened Find My Phone.

The red dot sat at 14 Riverside Terrace. Gwen's townhouse.

Then I opened my messages. They were syncing from the phone in her house.

The first few had been typed by the driver while I lay on the van floor. After that, it was her.

12:31 a.m., to Ryan: At my mom's. Need space. Don't come.

I didn't write that. I have called my mother Mama my entire life, and Gwen had never heard me say it.

12:32 a.m., to Mama: Ryan doesn't want this baby. Please don't call him. Don't tell him where I am.

After that, every morning, my phone sent my mother a cheerful message. Resting at a friend's, don't pick up if Ryan calls!

That was why Mama hadn't worried. It was why she never answered him.

I couldn't call her, either. She would have driven straight to the police station, and Gwen would have known by dinner.

Ryan's replies sat underneath.

12:58 a.m.: Okay.

That was the exact minute our daughter was born.

Thursday, 9:14 p.m.: Are you all right? Any sign of labor?

Thursday, 9:15 p.m., from my own number: False alarm again. Still pregnant, in case you care. Ask Gwen for the truth about me.

So he thought I was at my mother's, nine months along and sulking.

In his head, the Jane Doe in Room 412 had already given birth, so she couldn't be me.

I put a hand over my mouth.

Gwen had used my own phone to push my husband toward her.

That afternoon I watched him on the local news on the same computer.

He stood on the station steps in front of six cameras.

"Somewhere in this city, someone is holding a baby girl born in the early hours of August 14th," he said. "Her mother was left behind a fence. She woke up and walked out of St. Mary's before we could talk to her."

He looked straight into the lens.

"Ma'am, you're not in trouble. Call me. I will pick up."

I laughed until my stitches pulled.

He was talking to me, and he had no idea.

At four, I took the bus to Riverside Terrace in a hoodie from the lost-and-found bin.

I sat on the bench across from number 14.

At 4:15, Gwen came out and walked to the pharmacy on the corner.

She came back with two cans of newborn formula and a pack of size-one diapers.

Gwen did not have a baby.

Halfway up her steps, she stopped and looked at my bench.

She crossed the street with a bottle of water in her hand and a soft, sorry face.

It was the face she wore around my husband.

"Oh, honey." She sat down beside me and pushed the bottle into my fist, loud enough for the man at the bus stop to hear. "You look faint. Drink something."

The man at the bus stop smiled at her, and she smiled back.

Then she leaned in close and dropped her voice.

"That call was over before his fork touched the plate, Erin. I was in the next chair. He didn't even sigh."

She patted my knee.

"You look like you've lost something. Babies are so fragile. If I were you, I'd stay clear of police stations. And remember he's a cop. Think about whose side he picks."

She laughed under her breath.

"He has no idea, you know. He thinks you're sulking at your mother's. He's so easy."

I didn't believe a word of it.

Gwen lied the way other people breathe, and for all I knew, that was a lie too, and Ryan was in on every bit of it.

She stood, brushed off her camel coat, and waved at the man at the bus stop on her way back up the steps.

I wanted to rip her door off its hinges.

But I had lost so much blood that I couldn't walk a block without sitting down.

I needed proof, and I needed somebody with a badge.

The only badge I knew had hung up on me.

At ten that night, back in Room 9, I picked up the classroom phone.

I didn't decide to. My hand did it.

I dialed his number. It rang once.

"Tierney."

I said nothing.

"Hello?" A pause. His voice changed, softer, the one he used on scared people. "Ma'am, if you can't talk, that's okay. I'm not hanging up. If you're in trouble, tap the phone twice."

I closed my eyes and tapped the receiver twice with my nail.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. I hear you. I'm right here. Can you tell me where..."

I put the phone down.

He had just promised a stranger what he had refused me.

I plugged my cracked watch into the charger on the desk, lay down under the drying racks, and cried myself to sleep.

At 11:20, footsteps woke me in the hallway.

Then a man's voice, low, on a phone.

"Lincoln Elementary," Ryan was saying. "Yes. My wife teaches here."

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