Chapter 5 - The Doctor Who Had Never Met Me
Dr. Martin Phelps was a psychiatrist.
More importantly, I had never met him.
Not once.
Yet investigators discovered draft notes on Nathan’s second phone describing my supposed symptoms.
Paranoia.
Emotional instability.
Impulsive financial behavior.
Unreasonable attachment to the children.
Disordered grief.
One paragraph claimed I had “episodes of confusion” that made me vulnerable to poor decision-making.
It was almost impressive.
A complete medical portrait built around a woman the doctor had never examined.
When police interviewed Phelps, he initially claimed the notes were hypothetical.
Then they showed him the messages.
Nathan had sent him photographs of me.
Descriptions.
Audio clips.
One clip came from a private argument I had with Nathan months earlier after he missed Ben’s birthday dinner.
I remembered crying.
I remembered saying I could not keep living like that.
Nathan had recorded me without telling me.
Then sent the emotional moment to a doctor as evidence.
My humiliation transformed into clarity.
Nathan had not suddenly decided to exploit me.
He had been building a file.
For months.
Perhaps longer.
Phelps finally admitted Nathan had approached him socially.
No formal diagnosis had been issued.
But he had agreed to provide “consultation” if necessary after the marriage.
Rachel’s expression became cold when she heard that.
“Necessary for what?”
“To support a petition if Sharon experienced a mental health crisis.”
“A crisis Nathan intended to provoke?”
Phelps looked down.
That silence told us enough.
The investigation moved quickly after that.
Phelps hired an attorney.
Nathan hired two.
Linda began claiming her son had manipulated her.
Nathan claimed Linda invented the financial plan.
Mother and son turned on each other within seventy-two hours.
Watching it should have felt satisfying.
It did not.
It felt hollow.
Because I still had to explain to three children why a man they had loved might be going to prison.
One night, Ella asked if our happy memories were fake.
I sat beside her bed.
“No.”
“But he was pretending.”
“Maybe sometimes.”
“So the pancake mornings weren’t real?”
I thought carefully.
“The pancakes were real. Your laughter was real. Your happiness was real. Nobody can take that away just because Nathan had dishonest reasons.”
She stared at the ceiling.
“I hate him.”
“You’re allowed.”
Then she whispered, “I miss him.”
“You’re allowed that too.”
Healing, I learned, did not demand emotional consistency.
You could despise someone and miss them in the same minute.
You could know they were dangerous and still grieve the person you thought they were.
You could understand the truth without instantly becoming free from the lie.
Three weeks after the wedding, Linda came to my house.
Not secretly.
Her attorney contacted Rachel first.
Linda wanted to talk.
I almost refused.
Then Rachel said, “She may know where the missing letter is.”
So we met in my kitchen.
The same kitchen where Nathan once helped the twins frost Christmas cookies.
Linda looked older.
Her confidence had collapsed into something smaller and more ordinary.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I did not answer.
“I know that means nothing.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“I deserve that.”
“What do you want?”
“To give you this.”
She placed an envelope on the table.
My sister’s guardianship letter.
My hands trembled when I recognized the handwriting.
“Where was it?”
“Nathan gave it to me.”
“Why?”
“He wanted me to destroy it.”
Ben, standing near the doorway, swore under his breath.
Linda looked at him.
“I didn’t.”
“How noble,” he said.
I touched his arm.
Linda continued.
“I thought we were trying to save the family.”
“Your family.”
She flinched.
“Yes.”
“What did you think would happen to mine?”
She had no answer.
Then came the worst part.
Linda admitted she had never liked Sophie and Ella.
Not because of anything the girls had done.
Because they represented obligations Nathan could not control immediately.
“He said once you were married, he could gradually persuade you to combine things.”
“Their trust funds?”
She nodded.
My entire body tightened.
“And Ben?”
“He was almost eighteen. Nathan thought he would leave for college and become irrelevant.”
Ben laughed once.
It was not a happy sound.
“Irrelevant.”
Linda looked ashamed.
“I’m telling you because investigators will find it anyway.”
“No,” I said. “You’re telling me because you’re negotiating for yourself.”
She did not deny it.
That honesty was almost refreshing.
Before leaving, she looked at me.
“You really loved him.”
It was not a question.
“Yes.”
“He did care about you, in his way.”
I stood.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Don’t make greed sound complicated enough to become love.”
She lowered her eyes.
Then she left.
The following week, prosecutors formally charged Nathan with multiple financial offenses related to Marwick Capital.
The scheme was broader than Daniel had known.
Nathan had falsified investor reports.
Moved funds between entities.
Used new money to conceal previous losses.
He had not stolen millions outright, but he had crossed enough lines to face serious consequences.
Linda was charged with conspiracy related to certain documents but agreed to cooperate.
Dr. Phelps faced professional discipline and a separate investigation.
My wedding disaster had become a criminal case.
Reporters began calling.
I refused every interview.
Then one morning, a television van appeared outside the house.
Ben watched through the blinds.
“They’re saying you exposed some massive fraud.”
“I didn’t.”
“You kind of did.”
“I overheard a phone call.”
“That’s the most Mom way possible to destroy a financial scheme.”
I laughed.
Really laughed.
For the first time in weeks.
Then my phone rang.
It was Detective Mills.
“We found evidence Nathan was planning to leave the country.”
My smile vanished.
“When?”
“Soon after the marriage.”
“With what?”
“Money.”
“How much?”
“We’re still tracing it.”
Then Mills hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
I sat.
“Nathan had purchased four airline tickets.”
“Four?”
“One for himself.”
I already knew what was coming.
“One for you.”
My throat tightened.
“And?”
“Two child tickets.”
“Sophie and Ella?”
“Yes.”
“What about Ben?”
“No ticket.”
I closed my eyes.
The man who had called my son irrelevant had apparently intended to separate our family completely.
“Destination?”
Mills answered.
“Portugal.”
May you like
Nathan had not simply planned to steal our financial future.
He had planned to take my daughters with him.
