Chapter 6 - The Name Hidden Beneath My Own
The message stayed on my phone.
You should ask Rachel why she was the first person who signed your name.
I stared at the words until they became meaningless.
Then I looked at Rachel.
She didn’t look surprised.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Not anger.
Just a quiet acceptance.
Like she had been waiting for this moment.
“Rachel.”
My voice sounded different.
Colder.
“What does that mean?”
She didn’t answer.
“Rachel.”
She looked down.
And that scared me more than anything.
Because people who are innocent usually rush to explain.
They defend themselves.
They tell you immediately that something isn’t true.
Rachel didn’t.
She looked like someone who had been carrying a weight for too long.
“I signed something,” she finally said.
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“A document.”
“What document?”
She closed her eyes.
“The first North Form agreement.”
I stepped back.
“You signed a document with my name?”
“No.”
“Then why did that message say that?”
Rachel looked at me.
“Because someone wants you to believe I betrayed you.”
“Did you?”
The question came out faster than I expected.
Rachel didn’t get angry.
She didn’t look offended.
She just nodded slightly.
“Yes.”
The room went silent.
Even the baby monitor seemed too loud.
I looked toward Maisie’s room.
Then back at Rachel.
“You betrayed me?”
“I made a mistake.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“It’s not.”
She reached into the folder and pulled out another document.
She placed it on the table.
“I signed this eight months ago.”
I looked at the paper.
The date.
Before Maisie was born.
Before Derek showed me Sienna’s account.
Before everything fell apart.
“What was this?”
Rachel swallowed.
“A consulting agreement.”
“With North Form?”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because I thought I was helping women.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it sounded impossible.
“You thought this was helping?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Not after I found out what it really was.”
I looked down at the document.
There was a signature.
Rachel Collins.
Below it was another section.
Consultant approval.
And below that…
Client profile authorization.
My name.
My information.
My pregnancy details.
My medical recovery notes.
I felt sick.
“You had my information.”
Rachel nodded.
“Yes.”
“How?”
She looked away.
“Derek gave it to me.”
That answer should have made me feel better.
It didn’t.
Because another question immediately appeared.
“Why did you accept it?”
Rachel was quiet.
Then she said:
“Because I believed him.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because Derek told me he was building a company to support women after childbirth.”
She touched the paper.
“He told me his wife had struggled after pregnancy and he wanted to create something that helped women feel confident again.”
I looked at the documents.
“That was me.”
“Yes.”
“He used me as the example.”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
But somehow, I appreciated it more than another lie.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Rachel looked at Maisie’s room.
“Because by the time I understood what was happening, Derek had already changed everything.”
“What do you mean?”
She pulled out another document.
“This.”
I took it.
It was a termination notice.
Rachel Collins.
Removed from North Form.
Reason:
Violation of confidentiality.
I looked at her.
“You were fired.”
“Yes.”
“Because you found out?”
She nodded.
“What did you find?”
Rachel hesitated.
Then she said:
“The real plan.”
I waited.
“North Form wasn’t just about selling fitness programs.”
I already knew that.
“What else?”
She took a breath.
“Derek wanted to create a system.”
“A system?”
“A system that identified women during vulnerable periods.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because vulnerable people are easier to influence.”
I felt a chill.
“He wanted women to believe they weren’t enough.”
Rachel looked at me.
“Then sell them the solution.”
I thought about the scale.
The comments.
The comparisons.
Sienna’s pictures.
Derek’s words.
This is what taking care of yourself looks like.
It wasn’t random.
It was designed.
“He did that to me.”
Rachel nodded.
“Yes.”
My eyes burned.
Not because I wanted to cry.
Because I was angry.
A deep, quiet anger.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long was he planning this?”
Rachel looked down.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
She was silent.
Then she opened the folder again.
Inside was a printed email.
From Derek.
To Rachel.
The subject line:
Postpartum Case Study Update.
My hands shook.
I read the first sentence.
“Mallory is progressing exactly as expected.”
I stopped.
Expected.
Like I was a project.
Like my pain was a result they were measuring.
I kept reading.
“Her confidence has decreased significantly since delivery. The emotional window is opening.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Rachel reached for the paper.
“I’m sorry.”
I pulled it away.
“No.”
My voice was low.
“Don’t apologize.”
I looked at her.
“Tell me the truth.”
She nodded.
“I will.”
“Everything.”
“I will.”
My phone suddenly rang.
Derek.
Again.
I stared at his name.
Rachel whispered:
“Don’t answer.”
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
But something inside me needed to hear his voice.
I answered.
“Mallory.”
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
“Where are you?”
I looked at Rachel.
“At home.”
“Who is with you?”
I didn’t answer.
A pause.
Then Derek said:
“You need to be careful who you trust.”
My grip tightened.
“Is that a threat?”
“No.”
A sigh.
“I’m trying to protect you.”
I almost smiled.
Protect me.
That word again.
“You mean control me.”
Silence.
Then:
“You really think Rachel is telling you the truth?”
I looked at Rachel.
“What does that mean?”
Derek didn’t answer.
Instead, he said:
“Ask her about the signature.”
My heart stopped.
I looked at Rachel.
“What signature?”
Derek continued.
“The one she put on your file before you ever knew North Form existed.”
I ended the call.
Slowly.
Rachel was pale.
“What did he mean?”
She didn’t answer.
“Rachel.”
She closed her eyes.
“I didn’t know it was your file.”
“What does that mean?”
She reached into her bag.
Pulled out another envelope.
“This is the document I never wanted you to see.”
My hands went cold.
I opened it.
Inside was a consent form.
At the top:
NORTH FORM INITIAL PARTICIPANT RESEARCH.
Below:
Subject:
Mallory Reed.
But there was something wrong.
Something impossible.
The signature at the bottom wasn’t Derek’s.
It wasn’t Sienna’s.
It wasn’t Rachel’s.
It was mine.
My name.
My handwriting.
My signature.
Except I had never signed it.
I looked at Rachel.
“How did you get this?”
Her eyes filled with regret.
“Because I was there when it happened.”
I froze.
“What?”
She looked at me.
“I watched someone copy your signature.”
“Who?”
Rachel opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
Her phone suddenly buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
And all the color disappeared from her face.
“What?”
I stepped closer.
“Who is it?”
She slowly turned the phone toward me.
A new message.
One sentence.
Rachel is not the only person who signed Mallory’s name.
May you like
Then another line appeared.
The second signature came from someone inside your house...
