He Accused Me Of Stealing But I Heard The Truth Chapter 01
When I was five months pregnant, Derek Weston sent his beautiful personal assistant to me with an envelope of cash. There wasn’t even enough to cover a consultation at a legitimate clinic. She told me Derek thought the pregnancy was affecting our intimacy, and that I should take the money and get rid of the baby.
I fled Chicago.
Six years later, Derek donated enough to a children and family aid center to build a new housing wing and fund its operations for years. My daughter and I were living there through its work-housing program; I was temping in the cafeteria. The program didn’t cover meals.
Maisie was trembling with hunger, her small hand reaching for half a grilled cheese sandwich someone had left on a tray.
I blinked hard and caught her hand.
“Just wait a little longer, baby. Mommy will buy you some bread after work.”
Someone behind me called my name.
“Erin Collins?”
I turned.
Derek stood a few steps away, looking down at me, his expression devoid of warmth.
And then, all at once, a voice flooded my mind.
[She’s alive. She’s really alive. That child is mine, isn’t she?]
[Why are they dressed like this? Why is my daughter picking through other people’s leftovers?]
I stared at Derek’s cold face, certain I was hallucinating.
He looked at me, his jaw clenched.
“Why are you here? What happened to the money I sent you?”
His voice was ice, but the thoughts crashing through his head were chaotic.
[Did she give it all to that painter?]
[I want to hold her. I can’t. She’ll push me away. Damn it, what am I even supposed to say?]
Maisie clutched my leg, peeking out from behind me.
“Mommy, is he the bad daddy who gave you one thin envelope and didn’t want us anymore?”
…
The lobby fell silent.
Derek could absorb the worst news in a boardroom without batting an eye, but now, his face darkened.
He looked at me, then at Maisie hiding behind my legs.
“One thin envelope?” He let out a short, sharp laugh. “After six years, that’s the best lie you could come up with?”
The voice only I could hear nearly drowned him out.
[No. I had Rachel give her an account with enough to buy a house, enough to start over. Why is she saying it was just one thin envelope?]
[Maisie’s looking at me like I’m trash. She called me a bad daddy. Fine. She has every right. But I didn’t abandon her. Not on purpose.]
Rachel Lane, standing half a step behind Derek, went pale. She quickly stepped forward.
“Erin, you can’t say things like that in front of a child.”
Her eyes were red-rimmed, her tone wounded.
“I personally gave you the account information. You said that no matter how much Derek gave you, it would never make up for the years you wasted.”
She paused, glancing at Derek.
“You took the money and left with that painter. I told you he’d spend every cent. Now that you have nowhere to go, you can’t use a child to scam Derek.”
Derek’s shoulders went rigid.
“You make me sick, Erin.”
He strode toward me and gripped my chin, forcing my head up.
“You took my money for another man. Now that it’s gone, you drag my child to a shelter and let her eat garbage?”
His grip was bruising, but in his mind, he was shouting at himself.
[Let go. You’re hurting her. She’s nothing but skin and bones. Let go.]
Derek released me abruptly. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped his fingers, as if touching me had soiled them.
A social worker nearby had already picked up the phone, asking if I wanted security. I shook my head and pulled Maisie closer behind me.
A flicker of triumph touched Rachel’s mouth, gone in an instant.
I had no strength left to explain.
I took Maisie’s hand and looked Derek straight in the eye.
“Who you believe is your business. You’re here to donate, so go take your pictures with the board. Don’t stand in the way of my work.”
I lifted Maisie into my arms and turned to leave.
She hadn’t had a proper meal in days. The fright had drained the remaining color from her face.
Then her body went limp in my arms.
“Maisie!”
Before I could react, Derek was there, sweeping her out of my arms.
[What’s wrong with her? Why won’t she open her eyes?]
[Get a doctor. Right now. Maisie, don’t be scared. Daddy’s here.]
Someone in the lobby lifted a phone to record. The EMTs made them stop and ordered the center to preserve the security footage, but not before Maisie’s face flashed across a local news account.
The ambulance took us to a children’s hospital in Streeterville. The Weston family had funded a new ward there, and the hospital administration quickly assembled in the top-floor consultation room.
I stood in the corner, cold sweat soaking my back.
The head of pediatric immunology held Maisie’s chart and addressed Derek.
“The child is suffering from severe hypoglycemia, a result of long-term malnutrition. Her immune markers are also highly abnormal, and she already has a lung infection.”
The doctor turned a page.
“This is a rare congenital immune deficiency. We’ve also found markers consistent with possible fetal drug exposure. Blood work alone can’t confirm the cause, but if the mother came into contact with an unknown cytotoxic drug during pregnancy, it needs to be included in her medical history.”
Derek’s head snapped toward me.
“Erin.” He bit out each syllable. “You took the money, ran off with that man, and then tried to cut corners with some black-market abortion pill? You almost killed her.”
[Did she want to get rid of me that badly? Was she willing to gamble with her own life just to not have this child?]
[Or did that man force her? If he did, I’ll find him.]
Rachel handed Derek a glass of water.
“Derek, don’t jump to conclusions. Erin must have been in a terrible situation. We don’t know where that painter took her. Maybe the drugs weren’t her choice.”
“Shut up!”
I pointed at Rachel, my hand shaking so badly I could barely aim.
“Do you dare swear you gave me that account?”
I turned to Derek.
“She shoved me into an unlicensed clinic on the South Side and handed me a cash envelope that wouldn’t even cover a proper consultation. She said you were tired of me, that the baby in my belly was ruining your life.”
“They forced pills down my throat and were about to inject me. I climbed out a second-story fire escape and jumped into a dumpster. That’s the only reason I didn’t die in that alley.”
Derek stepped closer, the corner of his mouth lifting in a humorless smirk.
“You think six years has made me easier to fool?”
“There’s a relocation fund in the company’s books—large enough for you to buy a house and start over—with your electronic signature on it. And you’re telling me you jumped from the second floor of an illegal clinic with nothing but an envelope that couldn’t even pay for a real consultation?”
He looked at me, his voice laced with cruelty.
“Did that painter take your ability to tell the truth when he dumped you, too?”
[Why is she still lying to me?]
[Did she really jump from the second floor? Who caught her? Who took her to a hospital?]
[Her hands are freezing. How did she survive the last six years?]
I listened to the frantic questions in his head and looked at the contempt on his face, and the absurdity of it all washed over me.
He had always been like this. He only believed what was on paper, only evidence stamped and filed through his corporate systems.
Six years ago, Rachel’s men held me down in a chair at that clinic.
She’d handed me a stack of papers and told me they were just anesthesia and privacy consent forms. The drugs made my head swim; I could barely make out the words.
Later, I would learn that the papers I’d signed had been scanned directly into the Weston Group’s system.