Chapter 3 - CAMILLE’S NURSERY
Camille had a nursery.
That was not evidence of a crime by itself.
She had spent years trying to become a mother.
Three rounds of IVF.
Two miscarriages.
One failed embryo transfer.
A surgery that left future pregnancy unlikely, though not impossible.
I knew all of that.
I had cried with her after the second loss.
I had brought soup.
Sat beside her.
Held her hand while she told me:
“I feel like my body keeps taking things away.”
I had loved her.
That history made what came next worse.
Police did not search her home because she wanted a nursery.
They obtained authority based on forged-document evidence and communications indicating the papers were stored there.
The nursery was prepared for a newborn.
Crib.
Bassinet.
Diapers.
Bottles.
Clothes.
Car seat.
Nothing illegal.
Then investigators found a file drawer.
Inside:
Hospital discharge checklist.
Postpartum night-nurse contract.
Pediatrician inquiry.
Temporary insurance enrollment worksheet.
Proposed child name.
That last one hurt.
Camille had written:
Clara Mercer.
Our daughter did not have a final name yet.
Stellan and I had narrowed it to Iris, June, or Margot.
Camille had already named her.
Again:
Writing a name is not theft.
But planning had become intimate.
The night-nurse contract listed:
Infant residence: Camille Mercer household.
Parent availability: anticipated maternal recovery period.
“Maternal.”
Not Arden.
Generic.
As though I would temporarily disappear into a medical category.
Then the hospital discharge worksheet.
Who provided it?
A private maternity concierge service.
Camille had hired them.
She told them I had agreed to a postpartum placement while I recovered from “anticipated complications.”
I had no anticipated complications.
Healthy pregnancy.
Normal monitoring.
No medical reason I could not care for my baby.
The concierge service immediately suspended its involvement and preserved records when contacted by police.
No conspiracy.
They had believed a client.
Still, their verification failed.
That would matter.
Naomi said:
“Systems can create momentum even when paperwork is not legally sufficient.”
“What does that mean?”
“If enough people believe an arrangement exists, they may start acting as though it does until someone checks.”
That was exactly what Celeste wanted.
Not a magic paper that instantly transferred my baby.
A corridor lined with people expecting me to step aside.
Then investigators found something in Camille’s desk.
A letter from Celeste.
Eight months earlier.
Before I had even announced my pregnancy publicly.
If Arden carries successfully, we need to discuss whether this could solve both problems.
Both.
What two problems?
Camille’s infertility was one.
The other remained unknown.
At the bottom:
Do not involve Stellan until there is something concrete.
I stared at my husband.
He looked sick.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
I believed him.
For now.
Then another letter.
Camille to Celeste.
I cannot take her baby unless Arden agrees.
Good.
A line that proved she understood.
Celeste replied:
Agreement is a process.
That sentence frightened me more than outright threat.
May you like
Because it meant Celeste did not see consent as yes or no.
She saw it as something that could be manufactured.
