Chapter 6 The Whole Hospital Plays Along

# Chapter 6: The Whole Hospital Plays Along

Two weeks passed at the cabin, settling into a strange routine of hypervigilance and domestic normalcy. Damon thrived despite our circumstances, gaining weight and developing what I was convinced was an actual smile, though Declan insisted it was just gas. We existed in a peculiar bubble—part safe house, part family retreat—while the outside world continued its hunt for us.

Each morning, Declan would receive encrypted updates from Katherine about the case building against Lawrence Donovan. Each evening, we'd watch the local Boston news via satellite, where our disappearance remained a featured story. The narrative had evolved from "missing doctor and newborn" to speculation about my relationship with the men found unconscious in my apartment. Some reports even suggested I might have been involved in criminal activity.

"They're trying to control the story," Declan explained after one particularly inflammatory report. "Lawrence is using his media connections to shift public sentiment."

"So now I'm not just missing, I'm a criminal?" I shook my head in disbelief. "My colleagues, my patients—they'll believe this garbage?"

"Not everyone," he assured me. "Katherine says there's been significant pushback from the hospital staff. Many have given interviews defending your character."

That small comfort did little to ease my growing restlessness. Two weeks of isolation, of being cut off from my life, my work, my identity—it was beginning to wear on me.

"I need to know what's happening at the hospital," I said one evening as we sat by the fireplace, Damon asleep in the portable bassinet beside us. "Not just the public story, but the real one. Are my patients being cared for? Has someone taken over my cases?"

Declan hesitated, then nodded. "I can arrange a secure call. But it would have to be with someone we absolutely trust."

"Like who? According to you, we don't know who might be working for the Donovans."

"There's one person I'm certain isn't compromised." He reached for his phone. "Nancy Chen, head nurse in obstetrics. She's been my eyes and ears at the hospital for the past six months."

I stared at him. "Nancy? My Nancy? The nurse who's worked with me for eight years?"

He nodded. "She was vetted thoroughly before I approached her. Her brother was killed by Donovan associates ten years ago—a case that was never solved. When I explained who I was and what I was trying to do, she agreed to help."

"So she knew you were alive all this time?" The revelation stung more than I expected. "She watched me grieve you, talk about you, and never said a word?"

"She was protecting you," Declan said gently. "Just like everyone else involved."

"Everyone else?" My voice rose. "How many people knew, Declan? How many people at Boston Memorial were in on this charade?"

He sighed, setting down his phone. "You deserve the full truth. When I returned to Boston Memorial six months ago, I needed allies—people who could help me monitor the Donovans' hospital connections while keeping you safe. Nancy was first. Then Dr. Garcia from Pathology. Eventually, we brought in Dr. Reynolds."

"My obstetrician?" I was incredulous. "The same man you claimed was compromised by the Donovans?"

"He was," Declan confirmed. "But Katherine helped us turn him. Showed him evidence of what the Donovans were really planning, offered protection for his family. He's been working with us since your second trimester."

My mind reeled with the implications. "So when I went into labor..."

"It wasn't coincidence that I was there," he admitted. "Reynolds alerted me immediately. I was already at the hospital, preparing to monitor from the observation room, when your complications began."

"And the power outage during delivery? Was that staged too?"

He shook his head. "That was actually them—the Donovans. We believe they were trying to create chaos, an opportunity to get to you when security protocols would be compromised. I was just faster."

I fell silent, processing this new layer of deception. Not just Declan, but colleagues I'd worked with for years—people I trusted with my patients' lives, with my own life—all keeping this monumental secret.

"I want to talk to Nancy," I finally said. "Not just about the hospital. About everything."

Declan nodded, returning to his phone. After several security measures I couldn't follow, he handed it to me. "It's ringing through an encrypted line. You have about five minutes before it becomes unsafe."

Nancy answered on the second ring. "Is everything okay?" Her voice was tense, clearly expecting Declan.

"It's me, Nancy," I said, surprised by the emotion that welled up at hearing a familiar voice. "It's Evelyn."

"Oh my God." She sounded like she might cry. "Dr. Carter—Evelyn—are you alright? The baby?"

"We're both fine," I assured her. "But I need to know what's happening there. And..." I took a deep breath. "I need to know how long you've known about Declan."

There was a brief silence. "Six months," she finally said. "Since he came to the hospital as Dr. Collins. I know you must feel betrayed—"

"By my closest colleague? My friend? Yes, Nancy, betrayed doesn't begin to cover it." I tried to keep the hurt from my voice.

"I wanted to tell you," she said earnestly. "Every day, watching you prepare for single motherhood, seeing how hard you were working—I wanted to tell you that you weren't alone. But he convinced me it would put you in danger."

"And the others? How many people at Boston Memorial knew?"

Nancy sighed. "At first, just me and Dr. Garcia. Then Dr. Reynolds, once we realized he was being pressured by the Donovans. After that... it grew."

"How much?"

"Most of the senior nursing staff in obstetrics. Three attending physicians. The head of security." She hesitated. "By the time you went into labor, about twenty people knew Dr. Collins was actually your husband."

I closed my eyes, trying to imagine it—twenty colleagues going about their daily routines, interacting with me normally while harboring this enormous secret.

"Why?" I asked. "Why would so many people agree to this deception?"

"Because he showed us proof of what the Donovans were planning," Nancy explained. "And because... we care about you, Evelyn. Everyone involved did it to protect you and your baby."

"Or because he threatened them," I suggested, eyeing Declan.

Nancy's laugh surprised me. "Threatened? Oh God, no. Well, except about Pediatrics."

"Pediatrics?" I frowned in confusion.

"He said if anyone breathed a word to you before it was safe, he'd have them transferred to Pediatrics night shift. You know, with the 200 screaming kids and the bodily fluids?" She chuckled. "Classic surgeon intimidation tactics."

Despite everything, I felt a smile tug at my lips. The Pediatrics night shift was notorious at Boston Memorial—the most chaotic, exhausting assignment possible.

"So everyone just... played along? For months?"

"We did what was necessary," Nancy said firmly. "And we're still doing it. The hospital is in chaos with all the media attention, but we're managing. Dr. Miller has taken over your cases temporarily. Your patients are being told you're on emergency family leave."

"And the police investigation?"

"Detective Garcia—Dr. Garcia's brother—is leading it. He knows the truth but is maintaining the official missing persons case as cover. It's keeping the Donovans visible while they build evidence against them."

Our five minutes were nearly up, but I had one more question. "Nancy... was it worth it? All the deception, the lies?"

"Ask me that when you're back here safely," she replied. "But for what it's worth, when I saw Dr. Carter—your husband—holding your baby in the recovery room, looking at you both like you were his entire world... yes, I think it was worth it."

The call ended, leaving me with a tangle of emotions I couldn't quite sort through. Declan watched me cautiously, clearly uncertain how I would react to these new revelations.

"Twenty people," I finally said. "Twenty of my colleagues knew you were alive and working alongside me for months."

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I know how it sounds."

"It sounds like a conspiracy, Declan. A massive breach of trust."

"It was necessary—"

"No," I cut him off. "What was necessary was protecting me from actual physical harm. What wasn't necessary was the psychological manipulation of making me believe I was going through pregnancy and preparing for motherhood alone when I wasn't."

He had the decency to look ashamed. "You're right. I crossed a line—several lines. At first, I told myself it was just until the Donovans were neutralized, until you were safe. But as your pregnancy progressed..." He ran a hand through his hair. "I couldn't stay away. I needed to be part of it, even if you didn't know I was there."

"So you created this elaborate charade. Dr. Collins, trauma specialist." I shook my head in disbelief. "And everyone just went along with it."

"Not everyone," he admitted. "Dr. Willis from Neurology recognized me immediately. He refused to participate in the deception."

"Ellis Willis?" I was surprised. "He never said a word to me."

"Because I convinced him that knowledge would endanger you," Declan explained. "He agreed to keep my secret as long as I promised to reveal myself to you after the baby was born, when it could be done safely."

I recalled Dr. Willis's odd behavior in the months before delivery—how he'd asked about my plans, insisted I shouldn't be alone, even offered to be my birthing partner. At the time, I'd attributed it to collegial concern. Now I realized he'd been trying to support me without betraying Declan's confidence.

"This is so messed up," I murmured. "My entire professional life—my workplace, my colleagues—it was all part of this elaborate deception."

"Not a deception," Declan corrected gently. "A protection detail. Every person involved was thoroughly vetted, monitored for Donovan connections. We created a safety net around you without compromising your independence."

I raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly did secretly watching me, making decisions about my life without my knowledge, not compromise my independence?"

He had no answer for that.

As if sensing the tension, Damon began to fuss in her bassinet. I lifted her, finding comfort in her warm weight against my chest.

"The thing I can't reconcile," I said as I soothed her, "is how different this Declan is from the man I married. The Declan I knew was brilliant but impulsive. Compassionate but sometimes careless with details. He could never have orchestrated something this complex, this methodical."

"People change," he said simply. "Death—even fake death—has a way of clarifying priorities."

"And what are your priorities now?"

"Keeping you and Damon safe," he replied without hesitation. "Bringing down Lawrence Donovan. And..." he paused, "earning back your trust, if that's even possible."

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed with an incoming message. He checked it, his expression immediately sharpening.

"It's Katherine. There's been a development." He quickly scanned the message. "Lawrence Donovan is holding a press conference tomorrow. He's going to announce a foundation in your honor—claiming he feels responsible for your disappearance because the men who broke into your apartment were former employees of his."

"That's absurd," I said. "Why would he do that?"

"It's a power play," Declan explained. "He's positioning himself as a concerned citizen, distancing himself from the attack while keeping his name associated with the case. It keeps him in the loop with the investigation."

"So what do we do?"

"We accelerate our timeline." His voice took on the clinical precision I remembered from difficult surgeries. "Katherine has enough evidence to move against Lawrence, but she was building redundancies, ensuring the case was airtight. We don't have that luxury anymore."

"What does that mean for us?"

"It means we need to be ready to testify," he said. "Both of us. I've been building this case for five years, but your testimony about the attack in your apartment would seal it."

The prospect of emerging from hiding, of facing Lawrence Donovan in a courtroom, sent a chill through me. "And if we do this—if we testify and they arrest Lawrence—will it be over? Will we be safe?"

"The Donovan organization is extensive, but Lawrence is the head. Cut off the head..." He left the metaphor unfinished.

"And we go back to our lives? Just like that?" I couldn't keep the skepticism from my voice.

"Not just like that, no." Declan's eyes met mine, serious and sad. "There would be consequences. Media attention. Legal complications regarding my 'death.' And us..." He gestured between us. "That would be entirely up to you."

I looked down at Damon, now sleeping peacefully against my shoulder. She deserved a normal life—not one spent in hiding, not one overshadowed by her parents' complicated history.

"When would we need to go back?" I asked.

"Katherine suggests three days from now. She's arranging secure transport and protective custody." He hesitated. "Evelyn, if you don't want to do this—if you want to stay here while I handle it—that's an option."

"No," I said firmly. "I'm done being protected from the sidelines. If we're doing this, we're doing it together."

Something like pride flickered in his eyes. "Together, then."

That night, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I thought about the hospital—about twenty colleagues who had maintained this elaborate charade for months. People I'd worked beside, joked with, trusted with patients' lives. All of them knowing my dead husband wasn't dead at all, watching me navigate pregnancy alone when I wasn't really alone.

I should have felt angry, betrayed. And part of me did. But another part—a growing part—recognized the extraordinary lengths these people had gone to for my protection. Not just Declan, but an entire network of colleagues who cared enough to risk their careers, to maintain an exhausting deception, all to keep me and my unborn child safe.

It didn't erase the hurt or the sense of manipulation. But it did complicate my anger, softening its edges with the recognition of good intentions behind bad choices.

Three days. In three days, we would emerge from hiding, step back into the world, and face whatever consequences awaited us. The thought was terrifying, but also liberating. No more running. No more hiding. Just the truth, finally, after five long years of lies.

As I drifted toward sleep, I found myself wondering what would happen after—if we survived the courtroom, if Lawrence Donovan was convicted, if Declan was legally resurrected. Would we try to rebuild what we'd lost? Could we? Or was too much broken to ever be repaired?

I had no answers. Only questions, and the growing certainty that whatever happened next, I needed to face it clear-eyed and on my own terms. Not as the widow, not as the victim, but as Dr. Evelyn Carter—surgeon, mother, survivor.

And perhaps, someday, forgiver. But that day was not yet here.