Chapter 4
Stellan confronted his own memory next.
Two months before Ivy’s birth, Lucinda had invited him to lunch without Elowen.
She asked:
“What would happen to the baby if Elowen had a serious postpartum breakdown?”
Stellan had found the question offensive.
“She has no history of that.”
“I’m asking because responsible families plan.”
“I would take care of my daughter.”
“What if you were working?”
“I would stop working.”
Lucinda smiled.
“You always think life follows declarations.”
Then she mentioned Maribel.
“She would help.”
Stellan answered:
“She can help as an aunt.”
Lucinda changed the subject.
At the time, he thought that ended it.
Now Rachel asked:
“Did you ever sign anything authorizing Maribel to care for Ivy?”
“No.”
“Emergency contact?”
“Yes.”
That mattered.
Stellan and Elowen had listed Lucinda and Maribel as emergency contacts before delivery.
Standard family convenience.
The authorization permitted doctors to contact them if the parents could not be reached.
It did not permit adoption.
It did not transfer custody.
But Maribel had used the emergency-contact form as evidence in the Hearthstone file that both parents supported her future caregiving role.
Not illegal by itself.
Misleading.
Then came the hospital.
Ivy had been born at St. Anne’s Medical Center after a difficult thirty-hour labor ending in an unplanned C-section.
Elowen had been exhausted.
She cried repeatedly during the first two days.
She struggled with feeding.
At one point she told a nurse:
“I feel like I’m failing her.”
Normal words in a postpartum room.
Lucinda later obtained them.
How?
Elowen had authorized Lucinda to receive practical updates during the hospital stay because Stellan was moving between recovery and the neonatal unit during a brief jaundice evaluation.
The authorization expired at discharge.
Lucinda nevertheless wrote in the adoption timeline:
Birth mother repeatedly expressed inability to cope and questioned capacity to parent.
Rachel stared at the wording.
“You said you were failing at breastfeeding.”
“Yes.”
“You never said you wanted someone else to parent Ivy?”
“Never.”
Then another timeline entry:
Day 3: infant temporarily cared for by Maribel while birth mother rested and father handled medical matters.
Technically true.
Maribel held Ivy for forty-five minutes while Elowen slept.
The document turned it into a placement event.
Day 5:
Maribel provides overnight support.
False.
She stayed until 11:00 p.m.
Elowen and Stellan handled the night.
Day 9:
Birth parents continue transition discussions.
False.
The only discussion had been Elowen telling Maribel:
“Stop calling yourself her second mom.”
The adoption file was built from fragments.
Real moments stripped of context.
Then Stellan found an email in his own account.
Lucinda had sent a document shortly after Ivy’s birth.
Subject:
Family postpartum support acknowledgment
Stellan opened it on his phone and replied:
Looks fine. Thanks.
He never opened the attachment.
Rachel did.
The last paragraph said:
The parents acknowledge Maribel Shaw as the designated long-term alternative caregiver should ongoing postpartum concerns interfere with maternal care.
Not adoption.
But useful language for anyone trying to build a later story.
Stellan stared at his old two-word reply.
“That’s on me.”
Elowen looked at him.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
No defense.
May you like
His mother and sister had been manipulating documents.
But Stellan had also been signing the edges of their narrative because he kept assuming family paperwork meant family help.
