Chapter 3 - The Safe Haven in the Hills
Two days later, Leah and her baby were hidden away in a rustic, snow-covered cabin tucked deep into the Hocking Hills region, miles away from civilization. The cabin belonged to Mae’s trusted cousin, an eccentric retired park ranger named Tom who kept a low profile and a stockpile of encrypted burner phones.
Inside the warm, wood-paneled living room, a stone fireplace blazed, casting a golden glow over a makeshift nursery set up in an antique crib.
Leah sat at the wooden kitchen table, staring down at a digital tablet Tom had managed to set up using a secure satellite connection. On the screen, local news broadcasts were already spinning a terrifying narrative.
“Police in Columbus are searching for twenty-eight-year-old Leah Carver, who left Briar Glen Maternity Pavilion under suspicious circumstances while suffering from severe postpartum delusions. Family spokespersons confirm the infant requires specialized medical care...”
“They’re painting me as a fugitive and a danger to my own child,” Leah muttered, her hands clenching into fists.
Tom walked in from the porch, brushing snow off his heavy flannel jacket. He tossed a fresh set of newspapers onto the table. “Doreen’s PR machine is working overtime. But look at page three.”
Leah pulled the paper closer. A small investigative piece—written by an independent journalist named Marcus Vance who had been tracking illicit adoption rings in Ohio for months—hinted at irregularities within Silver Birch Women’s Center and several high-profile disappearances of newborns born to vulnerable mothers.
“Marcus Vance,” Leah read aloud. “He’s investigating Dr. Celia Rusk and the private clinic.”
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“He’s been trying to blow the lid off Simone’s adoption syndicate for two years,” Mae said, walking into the room with a cup of hot tea for Leah. “But he lacked proof—birth records, hospital transfer logs, and firsthand testimony from an insider. We have the hospital access codes, the security footage from Briar Glen showing Doreen coercing Nathan into signing the fraudulent psychiatric hold, and your medical charts proving you were completely sound of mind.”
“Then we don’t run anymore,” Leah said, her voice hardening with resolve. “We strike back.”
