Chapter 30
CHAPTER
THE MAGISTRATE TOOK pity on me, being eight-and-a-half months pregnant. He released me on my own recognizance. I hadn’t even realized that being held in a cell was a possibility, which was frightening.
“You will be contacted shortly to schedule your arraignment. You are ordered to make yourself available for any additional questions the detectives may have. You are advised to consult an attorney, or you can request a public defender. You are prohibited from leaving the immediate area,” the man said as he handed papers to the officer babysitting me.
With Robert no longer an option, I decided to ask for a public defender.
The magistrate said one would contact me as soon as possible.
Once they allowed me my phone call, I got a hold of Ellie. She promised to leave work immediately and come pick me up. The officers returned my phone. When I tried to tell them I was staying with Ellie, they strongly advised me to stay at my own place so I was easy to find.
Outside, it was windy and raining. It felt appropriate, like the world was just as despondent as I was. It was hard not to feel like my life was over.
Ellie dropped me off at my place and said she would run over to hers to pack up my stuff for me and bring it back. I was relieved when she offered to stay the night with me so I wouldn’t be alone.
My apartment smelled stale from abandonment. I opened a kitchen window to let in some air, then flopped on the couch, numb and morose. I began scrolling through all the notifications and missed messages on my phone.
I started out by texting Sam. It was such a long story, it seemed impossible to sum up in a single text, but I tried. Seconds after pressing send, his face appeared on my screen, calling me.
“Savannah, oh my God.” He sounded breathless with sympathy. “I can’t believe this is happening to you.”
“You and me both,” I said, noting how detached I sounded. I had expelled so much desperation and emotion over the past week, and even more so over the past few hours, it seemed I had none left at the moment.
“What happens now?” he asked. As if I knew.
“Well, I’m waiting for the court to call me and schedule my arraignment. I requested a public defender, so hopefully one gets in touch soon.” I paused. “How did the rest of the meeting go after I left?” The tightness in my chest told me how scared I was to hear his answer.
Sam let out his breath in a quick whoosh. “It was … tense. Pedro Torres just got up and walked out. But his team checked in with Meredith before leaving and said we should proceed with the timeline as planned. So that’s what we’re doing, for now. Meredith redistributed everyone’s duties.”
“Has Meredith said anything else … about me?”
Sam paused. “No. I don’t think she wants to talk about it. She’s very … singularly focused right now. She doesn’t want anything to distract from the account. She’s under a lot of pressure.”
“Understandable,” I said in a small voice, and it was—but it hurt that my and my child’s well-being could be viewed as less important than a social media schedule.
“Well, I’d better get back in there—but please, take care of yourself, Savannah, and let me know how everything goes. I hope you find a good public defender.”
“Thanks.”
I took a few slow breaths, trying to tamp down the panic inside me.
Even if a public defender could help me prove I wasn’t guilty of the assault, or of any connection to Jenna’s disappearance, would I even have a job to go back to?
Meredith wouldn’t want any kind of negative attention on the Blackwell Agency as it landed its most high-profile account yet.
But it was also completely unfair that something out of my control could end my job and maybe my career.
This job was supposed to be my second chance.
Would I ever get a third? What will I do for money if I lose my job? How will I support my child?
Feeling like a child myself, all I wanted was to hear my mom’s voice.
I dialed her number. After I relayed everything that had happened, she promised to come into the city the next day and stay with me through the weekend, since—I’d completely forgotten—my baby shower was on Sunday.
I hated hearing the fear in her voice, even as she did her best to stay positive.
“Keep your chin up,” she said. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and we’ll find a way to prove it.”
I smiled at her endless optimism, even in the face of such astounding adversity. “Thanks, Mom. See you tomorrow.”
Ellie came back shortly after with all my things and, bless her heart, she had even picked me up a smoothie on the way.
My stomach growled—I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. As I took the first sip, my phone rang—it was the public defender assigned to my case.
I put it on speaker so Ellie could follow along.
Half an hour later, I hung up, trying my hardest to think positively.
The young man assigned to defend me, Alex Hirsch—who said he was twenty-three, but whose voice made him sound sixteen—seemed serious and determined, at least. He was intrigued by my story and seemed at least a little outraged on my behalf that I was being put through so much while at the same time preparing to be thrust into single motherhood.
I tried not to panic when he said that, even if all that stuck was the Class A assault charge, that could still come with a big fine or up to a year in jail—or both.
He did have one good idea. He said he was going to contact my office building and Ellie’s apartment building to see if there was any security camera footage in either parking garage that might have caught someone planting the bloody lock of hair in my trunk.
But considering all the moving pieces of this disaster that my life had become, I wasn’t sure that would be enough to help.
Not long after I hung up that call, the courthouse called to say my arraignment on the assault charge had been scheduled for eight-thirty the following Monday morning.
My public defender confirmed he would be there with me and promised to keep in touch in the meantime in case there were any updates on my defense.
Ellie stayed with me until the next morning.
Before heading out for work, she promised to take Monday off so she could be at my arraignment.
All I could think of was how hard it would be to feel celebratory at my baby shower, with the arraignment the next morning hanging over me like a storm cloud, ready to unleash.
As soon as the door closed behind Ellie, I felt the weight of the past few days settle on my chest like a hundred-pound barbell. I sank onto the couch, weary. It wasn’t long before I drifted off to sleep.
I dreamt that a shadowy figure was chasing me with a butcher knife, shouting something in a language I couldn’t understand, though intuitively I knew the words meant “That’s my baby!
” I opened my mouth to scream as the figure finally caught up with me and slashed at my belly with the butcher knife, trying to cut the baby out—but I was confused when the slashing knife sounded like a phone ringing as it ripped through my flesh.
My eyes snapped open—it had been a dream, but the ringing phone was real. Ugh. I’d passed out on the couch, and my phone was all the way over on the kitchen table.
Getting up from a sitting or lying position was getting harder and harder these days, and my bladder refused to be ignored. By the time I finally reached my phone, a voicemail was waiting for me—it was from Sam at the office. It was short.
“Savannah, uh …” He sighed. “Listen, um … check your email. I’m so sorry. I hope you’re doing okay.”
Dread flooded my body, and a vein above my right eye throbbed. With shaking hands, I logged into my work email on my phone. At the top of my inbox was an email from Meredith entitled, simply, “Employment Status.” The vein pulsed more quickly.
From: Meredith Blackwell
Date: Friday, October 17, 2025 9:17 A.M.
Subject: Employment Status
Savannah,
Unfortunately, we at the Blackwell Agency have concluded that the best course of action for the company at this time is to terminate your employment with us, in accordance with the morality clause in your contract.
Your final paycheck will be direct-deposited into your bank account by the end of business today.
We wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.
Sincerely,
Meredith Blackwell
President, The Blackwell Agency
Tears blurred my vision. I sat back down on my couch and cradled my face in my hands. My future endeavors? The only thing I’m endeavoring to do is to stay out of prison and be allowed to raise my child in peace! Is that too much to ask?
My phone rang again—this time, my mother’s smiling face lit up the screen. With tears streaming down my face, I answered, voice trembling.
“Hi, Mom.” Emotions were taking over. Breaths started coming faster and stronger, and soon I couldn’t speak as my entire body shook with violent, primal sobs.
“Oh, sweetie,” my mom crooned, an audible catch to her voice as well. “You don’t deserve this. I’m so sorry all of this is happening.”
“I … wish … I … want …” My hopes, dreams, and fears slipped right off my tongue, swept away by my tears.
There were so many things I wanted—and yet, they were so simple, so basic.
I just wanted me and my child to be free from all this madness, and be allowed to live in love and peace.
If I could just have that, I was prepared to swear to God and anyone else who would listen that I would never ask for anything again.
Mom stayed silent for a moment, just listening to me cry.
Eventually, her gentle shh shh guided me to take deep breaths.
It took several minutes, but my breathing finally returned to normal.
I sopped up my wet tears and blew my nose.
She asked if there was any further news about my case.
I told her about Alex, my public defender, and that my arraignment had been scheduled for Monday morning.
“Well, that’s good, I guess. That means we can still have the baby shower Sunday, and celebrate you, and have something positive to look forward to. And I’ll stay with you at your apartment so I can go with you to court the next morning.”
“Thank you, Mom. I love you.”
“I just need to pack a few more things, but I’ll be on the road in the next fifteen minutes, hon.”
“Thanks so much, Mom … I really appreciate it.”
“Of course, Savannah. You know I love you.”
I switched on the TV. Some mindless reality show would help take my mind off everything.
At some point I must have drifted off again. I awoke with a start and picked up my phone—it had been two hours. Where was my mom? She should have arrived by now. Had she hit traffic on her way into the city?
One text was waiting for me—Alex Hirsch, letting me know he was on his way to pick up footage from my office building’s parking garage. My heart squeezed with painful hope. I really needed him to find something helpful.
I dialed my mom, but after a few rings, her voicemail picked up. She’s probably just stuck in traffic. And she never answered her phone while driving.
Feeling fidgety, I swiped open a social media notification—an unfamiliar face had popped into my message request folder. The name Sarah Morehouse didn’t ring a bell. Probably more Madison-prompted hate mail, but I clicked anyway.
Savannah, you don’t know me. My family has been friends with the Clark family for years.
Madison and I grew up together. I was at the baby shower and thought I should reach out to you.
You probably already know that Madison’s mom contacted the police after Madison was injured.
The police contacted me this morning to question me since I was at the shower.
I told them that I wasn’t sure what happened, because the two of you were in a different room alone when Madison was hurt.
I was just being honest, but later, Nora Clark called and basically screamed at me for like five minutes straight.
She accused me of betraying Madison, all because I wasn’t willing to lie and say I’d seen you push her.
Anyway, I wanted to let you know she’s pissed, and to watch out.
I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that the Clarks are relentless. I doubt they will give up easily.
Why am I not surprised? I quickly took a screenshot of the message and texted it to Alex Hirsch, with a short message: Hopefully this helps???
I glanced at the time again—it was almost two.
Three and a half hours since Mom had said she was on her way.
Even in the worst traffic I’d ever experienced on my way back into the city from her house, the drive had never taken me more than ninety minutes.
Where was she? I tried calling her again; the call went directly to voicemail.
Maybe her battery died, and she forgot to bring a charger in the car with her.
Still—why was the drive taking so long? I hope her car didn’t break down.
As the baby kicked my bladder again, my intercom buzzed. Finally, Mom’s here. I pressed the button to let her in the building, unlocked my front door, then waddled to the bathroom.
A moment later, from behind the bathroom door, I heard the door to the apartment open and close. “I’m in the bathroom, Mom, be out in a sec,” I yelled.
I walked out of the bathroom and into the living room. The room was empty.
“Mom?” I called out. I heard a noise coming from the bedroom—she was probably just putting her bag down.
“Hey, what took you so long? I was getting worried!” I said as I walked to the bedroom.
An intense, blinding pain in my left temple.
Then my world went black.