Chapter 3 - NINA’S NOTEBOOK
Nina had started the notebook because Ethan cried at 2:13 every morning.
Not exactly.
But close enough.
Jonathan had thought it was feeding.
Nina noticed something else.
At 2:13, Ethan usually woke after turning onto his left side.
When she repositioned him, the crying reduced.
When she supported him under both arms, he screamed.
When she cradled him against the right side of her body, he settled.
When Jonathan lifted him high against his chest, Ethan often cried.
No one connected the pattern because everyone had a simpler word.
Colic.
A word large enough to contain every mystery and small enough to stop investigation.
Dr. Malik copied Nina’s notes into the chart.
Jonathan sat beside her in the emergency department.
“I accused you.”
Nina looked at him.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
She stared at the notebook.
“I would’ve accused me too.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He shook his head.
“You were checking him.”
“I was pressing somewhere that hurt.”
“You were trying to find out why.”
Nina shrugged.
“That distinction only matters after people believe you.”
The sentence stayed with him.
Jonathan asked:
“Why were you so sure something was wrong?”
Nina hesitated.
“I studied nursing.”
He blinked.
“You never told me.”
“I didn’t finish.”
“Why?”
“My mother got sick. I left school. Then she died.”
Jonathan looked away.
Another grief in the house.
Quiet.
Unadvertised.
Nina continued.
“I know enough to know babies don’t always hurt randomly. But not enough to diagnose him.”
That humility mattered.
Jonathan had spent six weeks surrounded by people with titles who sounded more certain.
Nina had no title.
Only questions.
At discharge, Dr. Malik gave them strict instructions and referred Ethan to pediatric orthopedics.
Then she said:
“One more thing.”
Jonathan looked up.
“Because this is an unexplained fracture in a newborn, a child-protection team may review the case.”
Nina went still.
Jonathan’s jaw tightened.
“You think she hurt him?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Protocol.”
Jonathan hated that word.
Then remembered how badly he now wanted someone at St. Matthew to have followed protocols.
He nodded.
“Fine.”
Evidence first.
The nursery CCTV showed Nina’s handling before the emergency visit.
More importantly, Jonathan had archived footage from prior weeks.
Hours.
Days.
Ethan crying during normal lifting.
Crying before Nina touched his ribs.
Patterns.
The hospital child-protection specialist reviewed the videos and found no apparent abusive handling.
Nina was not cleared instantly.
But neither was she accused.
Jonathan’s anger found a new target.
Records.
He called his private attorney, Caleb Grant.
“I need every medical record from Laura’s delivery and death.”
“All of them?”
“Everything.”
“Jonathan—”
“Every audit log. Every amendment. Every order. Every nursing note. Every fetal tracing. Every neonatal record.”
Caleb went quiet.
“Something happened?”
Jonathan looked at Ethan.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Then Jonathan remembered Samuel Voss again.
Nothing in the delivery could have predicted this.
He had believed that sentence because it came after the worst moment of his life.
Now he heard something else inside it.
May you like
Not comfort.
Defense.
