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He shrugged me off, telling me that he had dealt with all manner of accusations from patients who had suffered a head injury, and that he hadn’t given it any more thought after he left. He also explained that I had broken my left wrist in two places as well as fracturing my right femur, meaning I would be wheelchair bound for at least four to six months.

The following day, after a sleepless night of confusing dreams, I woke up to Jacob informing me that the detective would be arriving soon, as he had an update to give us. Jacob shooed the nurse away when she offered to help me wash and dress, insisting he could do it.

I didn’t put up any fight. I was exhausted both mentally and physically, and as much as I wasn’t completely certain that Jacob had been telling the truth, I realized that for the next few months, I was helpless but to depend on him.

Detective Moore arrived ten minutes after Jacob had finished dressing me, careful to avoid causing me any pain. It wasn’t just my arm and leg that had been injured during my tumble down the stairs; three ribs were cracked and my body covered in bruises.

“Good morning, Mr. Du Pont,” Detective Moore said before turning to me. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Du Pont? Remember anything yet?”

I gave him a sad smile. “I’m afraid not.”

“Do you have an update for us?” Jacob said, his tone one of displeasure, likely at the detective pressing me.

Detective Moore cleared his throat. “Yes, I do. The investigation has concluded at your home; you’re free to return any time you like.”

“About time,” Jacob huffed, reaching across to take my good hand. “What is the result of your findings?”

The detective pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped through before landing on a page. “The deceased, Wallace Atkins, died of a single gunshot wound to the head. He had marks on his body, consistent with either fighting or caused when his body fell down the stairs following the fatal shot.” He flipped the page over and continued to read. “The sole witness, Mr. Daniel Johnston, gave a statement confirming that when he entered the Du Pont residence, Mrs. Du Pont was unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. He recalled hearing two voices and looked up to see Mr. Atkins wrestling with Mr. Du Pont, who had blood on his shirt. Mr. Johnston stated that he witnessed Mr. Du Pont overpower Mr. Atkins and fire one shot. The investigation has concluded that Mr. Du Pont acted in self-defence and was protecting himself and his wife from Mr. Atkins.” Detective Moore lowered his notebook, glancing between Jacob and me. “Do you have any questions?”

I had a ton of them, but I couldn’t think straight. Jacob had been telling the truth, backed up by Johnston. I couldn’t recall seeing him in all the memories that had plagued me from the second I woke up in the hospital; he hadn’t been there.

Surely, if the police confirmed he was there, but I couldn’t remember him, that was more evidence that what I had believed happened simply hadn’t?

Jacob shook his head, disbelief etched into every line of his face. “I can’t believe it. I’ve known Wallace for most of my life. I just can’t get my head around why he would attack Charlotte.”

“I might be able to answer that question,” Detective Moore replied, his face twisting into sympathy. “During the investigation at your home, we searched Mr. Atkins bedroom and discovered his journals. From the time Mrs. Du Pont came to live with you, Mr. Atkins started expressing his dislike toward her. His writings became very aggressive over time; it would seem he was jealous of your relationship with her.” He paused, a deep flush coating his cheeks. “He often commented on how much he loved you, Mr. Du Pont. He believed Mrs. Du Pont wasn’t worthy of your affection.”

My brows shot up into my hairline. Wallace was in love with Jacob? I glanced at him, finding his expression of shock matching mine.

“Mr. Atkins’ last entry in his journal was very helpful to the investigation,” Detective Moore added.

“How so?” Jacob asked.

“He wrote the day before he attacked Mrs. Du Pont that he had had enough of her and wanted her gone. He practically wrote a murder confession.”

Detective Moore left after Jacob had asked all his questions, and for several minutes after his departure, neither of us spoke, the silence stretching taut between us. I let myself recall my interactions with Wallace from the day I arrived; he’d never seemed to like me. Any time I caught him looking at me, it was always with a sneer on his face.

A million thoughts churned in my head, but before I could vocalize any, the door to my room opened, and Dr. Emery appeared, greeting us with his warm smile. “Charlotte, how are you feeling?”

I licked my lips, my mouth dry. “I’m okay, thank you.”

He beamed brightly. “Excellent. Well, I have some good news: you’re well enough to go home today.” Happiness bubbled out of me at his words; I hated being stuck in the hospital. Before I could express my gratitude, Dr. Emery added, “There’s just one thing we need to discuss.”

His nervous gaze met Jacob’s, who bobbed his head once. From where he was sitting in the seat next to my bed, he took my hand in his. “Angel. When you were first brought in, the doctors had to take some of your blood.” He hesitated, and panic began to grow in my chest, worsened when Jacob gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “It showed you’re pregnant.”

My breath caught in my throat, my gaze darting between Jacob and the doctor, not quite sure I had heard correctly. “I can’t be,” I said meekly. “I’m on the pill.”

Dr. Emery took a cautionary step toward the bed. “The pill isn’t 100% effective, Charlotte. You can still get pregnant while you’re on it.”

“But…” I trailed off, not knowing what the hell to say.

I was pregnant?

My heart started thumping, and without thinking, the hand with the cast on lifted to cover my stomach. It was still flat, but inside, a baby was growing. An unexpected rush of warmth and love flowed through me like lava, and I couldn’t stop the smile from lifting my lips.

I was pregnant.

“How far along?” I asked, my watery gaze meeting Jacob’s.