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“I didn’t want to forget anything important.” Her voice came out whisper thin.
“You were working not only to support yourself and your baby, but also Curt, who could have taken some off the pressure off you instead of compounding it. There wasn’t a person in town who didn’t see or hear how he treated you. Then, when anyone would try to step in, you would act blasé about the ugly way he behaved.”
“My therapist told me I was in a toxic relationship with Curt.”
Dr. Price made a disgusted sound. “Megan, your relationship with Curt went beyond toxic to downright mental abuse. My grandfather retired the day after he delivered your baby. He told me, in all the years he had been an obstetrician, never once had he treated a mother who was so harshly handled. My grandfather is the gentlest man I know, yet I had to pull him off Curt in the hallway after hearing Curt telling you he was leaving you.”
Megan stoically stood there, gazing out the window, dry-eyed. She had cried too many tears while replaying that memory.
“You didn’t deserve that. No woman does.”
“I did,” she argued hoarsely. “I deserved everything he said.”
“Why, Megan? Why?” Dr. Price pleaded with her. “So many people tried to help you, yet you pushed them away. I heard the authorities question if Curt had sexual contact with you when you were in middle school. He had a history of sexual violence—”
Megan spun on her heel angrily. “Which they did nothing about! Then they came to me, expecting me to stick my neck out to be humiliated like the girl he victimized.” Megan stared at him in cynical amusement. “No one cared because she was the daughter of the town drunk. Let’s be real. Jo was poor; it was only when she hooked up with a man who had money that anyone gave a damn. And then”—she gave a harsh laugh—“they couldn’t do a damn thing.”
“Yet you came back Treepoint,” Dr. Price stated. “Why? You could have gone anywhere; why here?”
“Because I have something to prove!”
Sympathetically, Dr. Price shook his head. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone in this town.”
“I have to prove I’m not going to lose my shit again!” Megan smacked a hand over her heart. “I have to know I won’t hurt a child again!” Beseechingly, she took a step forward, sinking down onto the lone chair in his office. She clenched her hands into fists and held them on her lap, digging her nails into her palms. “I need to know before I can become involved in a relationship, have children. What if I make friends with someone who has children? Should they be scared of me? You see people on television who attempt to kidnap children, confused the same way I was.”
“You won’t,” he assured her.
“I can’t be sure. You can’t be sure …” Begging him with her eyes, Megan dug her nails in deeper.
Dr. Price opened a drawer in his desk to pull a file out. Laying it down, he then placed his folded hands on top. “You have to trust my professional opinion on some level, or you wouldn’t have asked my advice for your friend. Do you agree?”
“I do.”
“Then this is my medical opinion.” Dr. Price’s entire visage changed, turning from relaxed and confiding to professional and matter of fact. “Megan, you had a psychotic break, which was brought on by the trauma of losing your child, your husband leaving you, the financial distress this caused, and I also believe your husband was emotionally abusive during your pregnancy. Not only did you suffer those stressors, you were also prescribed pain medication.
“My grandfather left instructions for you to be monitored closely. He was finishing his report when Curt came out of your room. My grandfather confronted him, which turned physical. Medical personnel immediately broke them apart. By then, it was too late. My grandfather had a heart attack during the altercation. Personnel, who should have been watching, unintentionally left you unattended when they had to rush granddad to the ICU.
“You should never have been able to reach the nursey. You continuously asked to hold your deceased child, and Curt refused your request repeatedly. It is believed you went in search of your daughter to hold her. Unfortunately, you found the nursery. In my medical opinion—and several others, I might add—seeing the James’ baby in the incubator was more than you, in your highly emotional state, could handle. I don’t know if many women in the same set of circumstances, in the exact same set of emotional turmoil, wouldn’t have broken under that pressure, and I’m not taking into account”—he opened the folder and took out a piece of paper, laying it on the desk for her to see—“you were just eighteen years old.”
Unclenching her fists, she picked up the paper, which was a photocopy of her driver’s license. God, the full reality of just how young she had been struck her. At that age, she had thought herself more mature looking. How many times had Curt told her she didn’t look her age? That she appeared more mature than other girls her age?
