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My Husband Got My Sister Pregnant — My Mom Gave Me A Fake Belly To Wear At Church — Transcript

by When Love Betrays · 5,426 words · 758 segments · language en · Watch on YouTube

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0:00My husband got my sister pregnant and my
0:02parents asked me to sign the birth
0:04certificate as the mom. They told me at
0:06Sunday dinner in the parsonage between
0:09the pot roast and the peach cobbler. My
0:11mother handed me a gift bag and inside
0:13was a silicone pregnancy belly skin
0:16colored with a soft strap that buckled
0:18in the back. The tag said 24 weeks.
0:21You'll start wearing it on Mother's Day,
0:23she said. Your daddy will make the
0:25announcement. She had known for 13
0:28weeks. Their plan was that my sister
0:30would give birth in July under my name
0:32with my insurance card and my driver's
0:34license and my husband and I would carry
0:37the baby out of the hospital as its
0:38parents. What none of them knew was that
0:41my insurance company had already been
0:42mailing me the statements. My name is
0:45Leah Danforth. I was 33 that spring
0:48living in Huntsville, Alabama and I was
0:50a certified medical coder at a hospital
0:52on the south side of town. Every time a
0:55doctor sees a patient, someone has to
0:57turn that visit into numbers so the
0:59insurance company knows what to pay.
1:01That someone is me. I can look at a
1:03five-digit code and tell you whether you
1:05had a sprained ankle, a colonoscopy, or
1:07a baby. People think medical records are
1:10about doctors. They're about paperwork
1:13and paperwork never forgets. I grew up
1:15the older of two girls in the parsonage
1:17behind Cornerstone Fellowship, the
1:19biggest church in Madison County. My
1:22father, Jim Mercer, had been the senior
1:24pastor there for 26 years. 1,800
1:28members, two services every Sunday, a
1:31radio broadcast on Wednesdays. My
1:33mother, Peggy, was the pastor's wife
1:36which in a church that size is a
1:37full-time job with no salary and no days
1:40off. She had one sentence she used more
1:42than any other. The church is watching,
1:44Leah. When I cried at my grandfather's
1:47funeral, the church was watching. When I
1:49wore jeans to Wednesday night supper,
1:51the church was watching. When I decided
1:54to go to community college instead of
1:55the Christian university in Tennessee my
1:57parents had picked, my mother sat on the
2:00edge of my bed and said very gently,
2:02"The church is watching, sweetheart.
2:04Don't embarrass your daddy." My father
2:07named me Leah. When I was 12, he
2:09preached a whole sermon about her. In
2:11the Bible, Leah was the older sister,
2:13the one with weak eyes, the one Jacob
2:15didn't want. He married her because her
2:17father tricked him, and he spent the
2:19rest of his life loving her younger
2:21sister, Rachel. My father said that
2:24Leah's story was about faithfulness,
2:26that God sees the ones nobody else
2:28chooses. I sat in the second pew that
2:30Sunday and felt every head in the church
2:32turn to look at me. My sister, Callie,
2:35was born 7 years after me. She had
2:38blonde curls, a voice like a choir loft,
2:40and my father's whole heart in her hands
2:42from the day she came home. She was
2:44singing solos by the time she was eight.
2:47By 19, she was leading worship for the
2:49youth group. People drove in from
2:51Decatur to hear her. My mother framed
2:54every program. Mine were in a shoe box
2:57in the attic. When I was 14, I was
2:59chosen to sing the solo in the Christmas
3:01pageant. It was the first solo I had
3:03ever been given. Two weeks before the
3:06performance, my mother asked me to let
3:08Callie have it instead. Callie was
3:10seven. "She'll be so adorable," my
3:13mother said, "and you're old enough to
3:15understand." I stood in the back row of
3:18the choir that night and watched my
3:19little sister sing my song in a tinfoil
3:22halo while 1,800 people cried.
3:24Afterward, my father hugged her on the
3:26stage and said it was the best Christmas
3:28Eve in the history of the church. When
3:30Callie dented my car backing out of the
3:32church parking lot, my father said
3:34accidents happen. When I dented his, he
3:37took my keys for a month. But Callie
3:39loved me in her way. When I got married,
3:42she was 16, and she wrote a song for my
3:44wedding. She played it on her guitar at
3:46the reception, standing on a folding
3:49chair in the fellowship hall. It was
3:51called Leah's Song, and it was the first
3:53time in my life anyone had ever written
3:56my name into something beautiful. I
3:58cried so hard I had to go into the
4:00church kitchen to fix my mascara. I met
4:02Owen Danforth when I was 23. He coached
4:05baseball at a high school in Madison and
4:07played bass in the church praise band on
4:09Sunday mornings. He had a slow Alabama
4:12drawl and a way of listening that made
4:14you feel like the only person in the
4:15room. My parents loved him on sight. My
4:19father married us himself in the
4:20sanctuary under the big stained glass
4:23window of the shepherd and the lamb.
4:25That was 10 years ago. Owen and I bought
4:28a brick ranch house off Bailey Cove
4:30Road. We had been trying for a baby for
4:32a little over a year. Not desperately,
4:35just hopefully. Every month Owen would
4:37hold my hand and say, "Next month." I
4:40believed him. Last fall, Kelly turned 26
4:43and aged out of my father's health
4:45insurance. She didn't have a full-time
4:47job. The church paid her as a part-time
4:50worship leader with no benefits. My
4:52mother called me about it three times.
4:55"Can't Owen's school help her find
4:56something? Can't your hospital?" I sent
4:59Kelly links to marketplace plans. She
5:02said she'd look into it. She never did.
5:05Owen started helping out more with the
5:06youth worship team that fall. Thursday
5:09night practices, Saturday morning setup.
5:12He said Kelly needed a bass player and
5:14the church couldn't afford to pay one. I
5:17thought it was sweet. I thought he was
5:19being the brother she never had. In
5:21November, Kelly skipped Thanksgiving
5:23dinner at the parsonage. She said she
5:26had to rehearse with the band for the
5:27Christmas program. Kelly had never once
5:30in her life missed my mother's sweet
5:32potato casserole. My mother carried a
5:34plate over to her apartment anyway and
5:36stayed for 3 hours. When she came back,
5:39she said Kelly was just stretched too
5:41thin. That same week, Owen started
5:43taking his phone with him to take out
5:45the trash. At church, I noticed that he
5:48and Kelly never stood next to each other
5:50anymore. Before, they had always been
5:52laughing together by the soundboard. Now
5:54they were careful. I didn't know yet
5:56that careful is what guilt looks like
5:58from the outside. In December, my mother
6:01started asking me every Sunday if Owen
6:03and I had any news. She'd smile a little
6:05secret smile and squeeze my hand. "I'm
6:08praying for you, sweetheart." she'd say.
6:11"God's timing." I thought it was the
6:13kindest thing she'd done in years. At
6:15Christmas, I lost my old driver's
6:17license, the expired one I kept in a
6:20drawer of the desk in my childhood
6:21bedroom from back when I still lived at
6:23home. I noticed it was gone when I went
6:26to put a photo in that drawer. I didn't
6:28think about it again. Who steals an
6:30expired license? On the morning of March
6:333rd, I got an email from my health
6:35insurance company telling me I had a new
6:37explanation of benefits. That's the
6:40statement they send you after a claim
6:41saying what they paid. I open these for
6:44a living. I open mine at my desk at work
6:47between two cardiology charts. It was
6:49the first one I had gotten by email.
6:51Until then, my insurance company had
6:53mailed every statement to the house on
6:55paper, and Owen always brought in the
6:57mail. In February, they had switched
7:00every member to electronic statements.
7:02This one came straight to my phone. Date
7:05of service, February 17th. Provider, a
7:08women's clinic on Governor's Drive.
7:11Procedure code 76801.
7:14I didn't have to look it up. 76801 is an
7:17obstetric ultrasound, first trimester. I
7:21had never been to that clinic in my
7:22life. I logged into my insurance portal
7:25and pulled up every claim from the last
7:276 months. There were four. A new
7:30obstetric patient visit on December
7:3221st, prenatal lab work in January, the
7:35ultrasound in February, a genetic
7:38screening blood test in early March.
7:40Every one of them under my name, my date
7:42of birth, and my member number. Two
7:44paper statements had already been mailed
7:46to my house about them. I had never seen
7:49a single one. Together, the insurance
7:51company had paid $4,160
7:54for a pregnancy I didn't have. I sat at
7:57my desk and felt the floor tilt. Then I
8:00did what I'm trained to do. I requested
8:02my own records. Under federal law, you
8:05have the right to see your own medical
8:06file. The clinic released it to me
8:08through their patient portal by the end
8:10of the day. I read every page in my car
8:13in the hospital parking garage. Patient
8:16Leah
8:17Danforth photo ID on file
8:20an Alabama driver's license expired with
8:23my picture from when I was 19. My sister
8:26and I had the same blonde hair at 19.
8:28Anyone would have believed it. Emergency
8:31contact Owen Danforth husband estimated
8:34due date July 29th and in the notes from
8:38the first visit in a nurse's careful
8:40handwriting scanned into the record
8:43patient's husband present very
8:45supportive. I drove to the baseball
8:47field at Madison High School at 4:30
8:50while Owen was running his team through
8:51batting practice. I sat in the visitor's
8:54dugout with the folder on my knees and
8:56waited until the boys had picked up
8:57their gear and gone. Owen walked over
9:00smiling wiping dust off his hands. Then
9:03he saw the folder and he stopped
9:04walking. How long? I asked. Leah How
9:08long Owen? Since Christmas, he said. I
9:12opened the folder to the first visit
9:14December 21st. He looked at it. Since
9:18Halloween, he said quietly. The fall
9:21retreat at the lake and the clinic my
9:24name my insurance He sat down on the
9:27bench beside me but not too close. She
9:30doesn't have insurance, he said. She
9:33panicked. Your mom said it was just for
9:35the prenatal visits. Just until we
9:38figured something out. My mom She knows,
9:41he said. Kelly told her in December.
9:44Your mom came up with all of it. The
9:46license, the card, all of it. And the
9:50statements that came to our house?
9:53He looked down at the dirt between his
9:54cleats. I threw them out, he said before
9:58you got home. And my father? Owen didn't
10:01answer right away. Then he said, Your
10:04dad doesn't want to know the details. He
10:06just wants it handled. I sat in that
10:09dugout and looked out at the infield
10:11where the chalk lines were already
10:13blowing away. I told Owen to stay
10:15somewhere else.
10:17He went to his brother's place in
10:18Athens. He didn't argue. I think he was
10:21relieved that somebody had finally said
10:23it out loud. That night, I opened the
10:26app on my phone where I had been
10:27tracking my cycle for 14 months. Every
10:30month had a little note in it. Next
10:32month, Owen had said every time holding
10:34my hand. I scrolled back to the end of
10:37October. On the same weekend as the fall
10:39retreat at the lake, I had written Owen
10:41at youth retreat. Missed him. I deleted
10:44the app. Then I sat in the dark kitchen
10:47and listened to the refrigerator hum.
10:49And for the first time in my life, I
10:51didn't pray. My mother called me 11 days
10:53later. Her voice was soft and careful,
10:56the voice she used at hospital bedsides.
10:59Owen told us, you know, sweetheart, she
11:01said. I'm so sorry you found out like
11:04this. Come to dinner Sunday. Your daddy
11:07and I have been praying about it and we
11:08think we have a way through. A way that
11:10protects everybody. I knew she didn't
11:13mean me. On Sunday, March 14th, I sat at
11:16the long oak table in the parsonage
11:18where I had eaten every Sunday dinner of
11:20my childhood. My father said grace. My
11:23mother served pot roast. Callie sat
11:26across from me in a loose sweater with
11:28her hands in her lap. Owen sat next to
11:30her. He didn't look at me once. Nobody
11:33mentioned anything for the entire meal.
11:36My father talked about the Easter sermon
11:38series. My mother talked about the new
11:40carpet in the fellowship hall. It was
11:42like they were waiting for me to pass
11:44the test. When my mother brought out the
11:46peach cobbler, she also brought out a
11:48gift bag. White tissue paper. A pink
11:51ribbon. She set it in front of my plate.
11:54Go on, she said. I pulled out the tissue
11:57paper. Inside was a silicone pregnancy
12:00belly. Skin colored. Soft with a strap
12:04that buckled in the back. The tag said
12:0624 weeks. My mother folded her hands.
12:10Callie is pregnant, she said. I think
12:12you know that now, and I think you know
12:15whose it is." "How long have you known,
12:17Mom?" "Since the middle of December." 13
12:20weeks. 13 weeks of Sunday dinners. 13
12:24weeks of my mother asking if Owen and I
12:26had any news yet, with a little smile
12:28like she was praying for us.
12:31"Here's how we're going to do this," my
12:33mother said. "If this gets out, it ends
12:36your daddy's ministry. 26 years, Leah.
12:391,800 people who trust him. Kelly would
12:42never lead worship again. You know what
12:44this church is like. So, what do you
12:46want? Kelly goes to stay with your Aunt
12:49Jo in Birmingham after Easter. A worship
12:52internship. Nobody will question it. You
12:55start wearing this on Mother's Day. Your
12:57daddy will announce it at the staff
12:59brunch, and then from the pulpit. In
13:01July, when it's time, Kelly checks into
13:04the hospital as you. Your card. Your
13:07name. You and Owen sign the birth
13:09certificate as the parents. You bring
13:11the baby home. You raise him." I stared
13:14at her. "You want me to put my name on
13:17the birth certificate?" I said. "As the
13:19mother." "You've been wanting a baby,"
13:22my mother said softly. "And it is
13:24Owen's. In a way, it's what's best for
13:27everybody." "What happens when someone
13:29looks at me in July and I'm not
13:31showing?" I asked. "You'll be showing,"
13:34my mother said. "I ordered three sizes.
13:3724 weeks, 30 and 36. You'll switch every
13:41few weeks. Wear your big sweaters until
13:43then. And when the baby comes in July,
13:46we'll say it came early. Babies come
13:48early all the time. Nobody at church
13:51counts weeks. I already looked it all
13:53up." She said it the way she used to
13:55tell me how many casseroles to bring to
13:57a funeral. "And the hospital?" "They'll
14:00check her ID."
14:01"Your old license is in my purse," she
14:04said. "You two look just alike at that
14:06age. Nobody looks that hard at a woman
14:09in labor." I understood then that the
14:11license hadn't been lost at all. My
14:13mother had taken it out of my old drawer
14:15the same week Kelly told her. I looked
14:18at my father.
14:19He was staring at his cobbler. Daddy.
14:23He didn't lift his head. Your mother has
14:25thought this through, he said. We need
14:28to protect the church, Leah. The church
14:30is bigger than any one of us. Kelly
14:32finally looked up. Her eyes were wet. I
14:36didn't plan any of this, she said. I
14:38swear I didn't. I just didn't know what
14:41else to do. I thought about the clinic
14:43notes. Patient's husband present. Very
14:46supportive. I thought about my old
14:48license in my mother's hands. I didn't
14:51say a word about the insurance. I didn't
14:53say anything about what I already knew.
14:56I picked up the silicone belly, put it
14:58back in the bag, and folded the tissue
15:00paper over it. I'll be at the Mother's
15:02Day brunch, I said. My mother closed her
15:05eyes and let out a breath, like she had
15:07just finished a long prayer. Thank you,
15:10she said. I knew you'd do the right
15:12thing. You always do. I drove home and
15:15put the gift bag in the back of my
15:17closet. Then I sat on the floor of my
15:19bedroom and cried until I couldn't
15:21breathe. On Tuesday, I met with an
15:23attorney named Andrea Pettybone in an
15:25office on Clinton Avenue downtown. She
15:28was in her 60s with silver hair cut
15:30short and a coffee mug that said
15:32objection. She read the insurance
15:34claims. She read the clinic records. She
15:37read the note about the expired license.
15:39Then she put the folder down and looked
15:41at me for a long time.
15:43Mrs. Danforth, she said. I need you to
15:46understand something. This is not a
15:48family problem. This is medical identity
15:51theft and it's insurance fraud. And what
15:53they want you to do in July, putting
15:55your name on that birth certificate when
15:57you didn't give birth, is falsifying a
15:59vital record. In Alabama, that's a
16:01felony. If you go along with it, you're
16:03not protecting your sister. You're
16:05joining her. I'm not going along with
16:08it. Good. Then you have to protect
16:11yourself. Right now, your medical file
16:13says you're pregnant. If you're ever in
16:15an emergency room, a doctor could make
16:17decisions based on her pregnancy, her
16:20blood type, her medications. You need to
16:22report this to your insurance company's
16:24fraud unit. And you need a police report
16:27for identity theft. Both. This week. And
16:30my sister? That's not up to you anymore,
16:33she said. Once you report, the insurance
16:36company and the district attorney decide
16:38what happens. You can tell them you
16:40don't want her prosecuted. They'll
16:42listen. But they don't have to. I sat
16:45there with my hands in my lap. My sister
16:48had written a song with my name in it.
16:50My sister had taken my name and walked
16:52into a doctor's office with it. Both
16:54things were true. And the divorce?
16:57Andrea nodded. Alabama allows adultery
17:00as a ground. Your husband went with her
17:03to those appointments and signed in as
17:04her husband. That's documented. We can
17:07file whenever you're ready. After
17:10Mother's Day, I said. Then we'll file
17:12the Monday after Mother's Day. On March
17:1518th, I reported the claims to my
17:17insurance company's fraud unit. A
17:19soft-spoken investigator named Calvin
17:22Gaines called me back within an hour. He
17:24told me they would flag my member
17:26account and quietly hold any new claims
17:28from that clinic for review. Billing
17:30offices don't usually notice a health
17:32claim for six or eight weeks, he said.
17:35Nobody will know we're looking until
17:37we're done looking. On March 19th, I sat
17:40in a small room at the Huntsville Police
17:42Department and filed an identity theft
17:44report. A young officer typed while I
17:47talked. When she finished, she printed
17:49it out and I signed it. Liam
17:52Danforth. It was the only thing with my
17:54name on it that I had signed in months
17:56that was actually true. Then I waited.
17:59In April, Owen came by the house to pick
18:01up his bass guitar.
18:03He stood in the kitchen with the case in
18:05his hand and didn't leave. Think about
18:07it, Leah, he said. Really think about
18:10it. We'd finally have a baby, a real
18:13one. Nobody would ever have to know. We
18:16could be happy. You'd be raising your
18:18son with my sister's face and my name on
18:20his birth certificate, I said. Every
18:23Christmas, every birthday, every time he
18:26asked who he looked like.
18:28He'd look like me, Owen said. That's my
18:31point. He didn't understand why I
18:33laughed. He took his bass and left. I
18:36went to work and coded other people's
18:38lives. I went to church on Sundays
18:40because not going would have told my
18:42mother everything. I sat in the second
18:44pew while Callie sang in the loose choir
18:46robe she had started wearing. And I
18:48clapped when everyone else clapped. Owen
18:51texted me five times. Most of them said
18:53some version of please just go along
18:55with it. This could be good for us. One
18:57of them said, you always wanted a baby.
19:00I didn't answer any of them. After
19:02Easter, Callie left for Birmingham. My
19:05mother told the church she had a
19:06wonderful opportunity to intern with a
19:08worship ministry there. People prayed
19:11for her. In April, my mother called me
19:13twice to ask if I had tried the belly on
19:16yet. You need to practice walking in it,
19:18she said. People notice. On Sunday, May
19:229th, Mother's Day, I drove to
19:24Cornerstone Fellowship at 9:30 for the
19:26staff brunch in the fellowship hall.
19:28Every year, between the first and second
19:30services, the church staff and the
19:32elders and their families gathered there
19:34for pancakes and coffee and a corsage
19:36for every mother. About 60 people. White
19:40carnations in a bucket by the door. My
19:42mother was pinning them on. Callie had
19:45driven up from Birmingham that morning
19:46to sing at the second service. She was
19:49standing by the coffee urn in a flowing
19:51white dress and a long cardigan, holding
19:53a paper plate in front of her stomach.
19:56Owen was beside her. My mother saw me
19:58walk in and her face fell. She came
20:01straight over and took me by the elbow.
20:03Where is it? She whispered. In my car, I
20:06said. That wasn't a lie. She looked at
20:09my flat stomach and then at the room and
20:11decided to keep smiling. She pinned a
20:13white carnation on my dress anyway.
20:16We'll fix it before the second service,
20:18she said. At 10:00, my father tapped a
20:21coffee mug with a spoon. He thanked all
20:23the mothers.
20:25He said a prayer for the ones who had
20:27lost their mothers and the ones who were
20:29still waiting to become mothers. Then he
20:31looked at me and his voice wavered just
20:33slightly. And this year, he said, "Peggy
20:36and I have some news of our own. Our
20:39daughter Leah and her husband Owen are
20:41expecting." The fellowship hall broke
20:43into applause. Somebody whooped. Two of
20:46the elders' wives started toward me with
20:48their arms out. I stood up before they
20:50reached me. "Thank you," I said. "But
20:53I'm not pregnant, Daddy." The applause
20:56stopped in pieces. Somebody laughed
20:58nervously, thinking it was a joke. My
21:00father's face went still. My mother
21:03stepped forward fast. "Leah's just being
21:06modest," she said. "It's early. She's
21:08nervous." "It isn't early, Mom," I said.
21:12"It's never." I took a white envelope
21:14out of my purse. I didn't hold it up. I
21:17didn't wave it around. I just opened it.
21:20"For the last 5 months," I said,
21:22"someone has been going to a women's
21:24clinic on Governors Drive using my name,
21:26my insurance card, and an old driver's
21:29license of mine that disappeared from
21:30your house at Christmas. My insurance
21:33company has paid $4,160
21:35for a pregnancy I don't have. Her due
21:38date is July 29th." Nobody in the room
21:41moved. At a table near the windows, a
21:44woman named Tanya Reese put down her
21:45fork. She was married to one of the
21:48elders. She was also a nurse. I hadn't
21:51known until that moment where she
21:52worked. "Governors Drive," she said
21:55slowly. "Dr. Patel's office?" I nodded.
21:59Tanya looked across the room at the
22:00coffee urn, at my sister in her long
22:03cardigan, at the paper plate she was
22:05holding in front of her stomach.
22:07"Kelly," Tanya said. "I checked you in
22:10in February. I thought you looked young
22:13for 33. You said your name was Leah."
22:16Kelly's paper plate slipped out of her
22:18hands and hit the floor. Pancakes
22:20everywhere. Nobody moved to pick them
22:22up. Owen took one step backward toward
22:25the door. My father stood very still
22:27with the coffee mug still in his hand.
22:29He didn't look at Callie. He didn't look
22:32at me. He looked at the floor the way he
22:34had at Sunday dinner. My mother's mouth
22:37pressed into a thin line, the one I had
22:39been afraid of since I was five. "This
22:41is not the place." she hissed. "The
22:44church is watching." "Yes." I said. "It
22:47is." I looked at my father. "You stood
22:50up in front of this whole church when I
22:52was 12 and told everyone that God sees
22:54the one nobody chooses." I said. "I
22:56believed you, Daddy. I still believe
22:59it." "I just never thought you'd be the
23:01one who didn't see me. You asked me to
23:03sign the birth certificate as the mom."
23:06I said. "I didn't sign that." "But I did
23:09sign something." I took out the last
23:11page and laid it on the table in front
23:13of him. The police report. My signature
23:16at the bottom. "I reported it to my
23:18insurance company and to the Huntsville
23:20police in March." I said. "I didn't have
23:23a choice." "My medical record says I'm
23:25pregnant." "If I'm ever in an accident,
23:28a doctor could treat me for her." "I
23:30told them I don't want Callie in jail."
23:32"I meant it." "But I don't get to decide
23:35anymore." "Neither do you." Callie was
23:37crying now silently with both hands over
23:40her mouth. "I'm sorry." she whispered
23:43through her fingers. "Leah, I'm so
23:45sorry." "I didn't know how to stop it
23:47once Mom started." "You could have said
23:49no." I said. "Just once." "That's all I
23:52ever needed
23:55My father didn't touch the police
23:56report.
23:58He put the coffee mug down beside it and
24:00folded his hands the way he did before
24:02every prayer I had ever heard him pray.
24:05Nothing came. One of the elders, an old
24:07man named Harold Briggs, who had been at
24:09that church since before my father
24:11arrived, put his coffee cup down and
24:13stood up. "Jim." he said. "I think the
24:16board needs to talk." I unpinned the
24:18white carnation from my dress and laid
24:20it on the table beside the police
24:22report. Then I walked out of the
24:24fellowship hall, across the the lot, and
24:27got into my car. The gift bag was on the
24:29passenger seat. I hadn't lied. It was in
24:33my car. I drove it straight to the
24:35Goodwill on University Drive and left it
24:37in the donation bin. Then I sat in the
24:40parking lot with the engine running and
24:42the air conditioning on high and cried
24:44harder than I had cried in the dugout or
24:45on my bedroom floor. Not because I was
24:48sad, because for the first time in 13
24:50weeks, I didn't have to pretend I didn't
24:52know anything. My phone buzzed over and
24:54over in the cup holder. My mother. My
24:57mother. Owen. My mother. I turned it
25:00face down and watched a woman carry a
25:02box of baby clothes into the store. My
25:05father didn't preach the second service
25:07that morning. One of the associate
25:09pastors did. Kelly didn't sing. The
25:12insurance company's investigation took 4
25:15months. Calvin Gaines called me in
25:17August and told me the claims had been
25:18reversed out of my name and my medical
25:21record had been corrected. He said the
25:23clinic's video from the front desk in
25:25February showed exactly what Tanya had
25:27said. A young blonde woman, a man with
25:30his hand on her back, and an old
25:32driver's license slid across the
25:33counter. He said in 22 years of fraud
25:36work, he had never seen a family try to
25:39move a whole human being from one name
25:41to another. It took two more months and
25:43three letters from Andrea to get the
25:45clinic to remove the pregnancy from my
25:47file entirely. The district attorney's
25:49office offered Kelly a pre-trial
25:51diversion program. No jail. She had to
25:54pay back the $4,160
25:57to the insurance company and do
25:58community service. If she finished it,
26:01the charge would go away. I wrote a
26:03letter to the prosecutor asking them to
26:05be merciful. They were. Owen was
26:08charged, too.
26:10He had driven her to every appointment
26:11and signed in as her husband. He took
26:14the same deal. The school district did
26:16not renew his coaching contract.
26:19He asked Kelly to marry him in June. She
26:22said no. She told my mother that she
26:24couldn't spend her life with a man who
26:26would have let his son grow up calling
26:27the wrong woman mom. He moved into an
26:30apartment in Athens and paid child
26:32support on the first of every month.
26:34Alabama is a state that still cares when
26:36a man commits adultery and the judge in
26:38our divorce cared a great deal. I kept
26:41the house off Bailey Cove Road. Owen
26:43kept his truck and his bass guitar. I
26:45lost a year of my life to paperwork and
26:48$11,000 to lawyers. Every dollar of it
26:51was worth my own name. The church board
26:53met three times in May. In June, my
26:56father announced from the pulpit that he
26:58was stepping down after 26 years.
27:01He said he had made decisions as a
27:03father that he could not defend as a
27:05pastor. He didn't say what they were. He
27:07didn't have to. Most of Madison County
27:10already knew. My mother lost the only
27:12job she had ever had, the one with no
27:15salary and no days off. The new pastor's
27:18wife ran the Mother's Day brunch the
27:19next year. My parents moved to a smaller
27:22house in Decatur. Kelly had a healthy
27:24baby boy on July 24th at Huntsville
27:27Hospital. She checked in under her own
27:29name. She used Medicaid. She named him
27:32Jacob. I don't think she knew what that
27:34would mean to me or maybe she did. 10
27:37days after Jacob was born, my mother
27:40called and asked if I would at least be
27:41his godmother. It would mean so much to
27:44Kelly, she said. It would heal this
27:47family. No, Mom, I said. You already
27:50tried to make me his mother. I'm not
27:52going to let you give me a smaller title
27:54for the same lie. In September, a
27:57co-worker sent me a video without a
27:59message. It had been posted by a coffee
28:01shop in Birmingham that held open mic
28:03nights. Kelly was on a stool with her
28:06guitar and a baby monitor clipped to her
28:08jeans. She looked tired and older and
28:11not at all like a choir loft. She said
28:13into the microphone, This one's an old
28:16song. I wrote it for my sister's
28:18wedding. I changed the ending. Then she
28:21sang Leah's song. I didn't watch the
28:23whole thing. I watched until the last
28:25verse, the new one about a sister who
28:27gave her name away and another sister
28:29who got it back. Then I turned off my
28:32phone and sat in my car for a while. I
28:34never sent her a message about it, but I
28:36didn't delete it either. My mother
28:39called on my birthday that fall. She
28:41didn't apologize. She said the church
28:43had abandoned them. She said I had
28:45chosen strangers over family. The church
28:48was watching Leah, she said. You knew
28:51that. I know, Mom, I said. That's the
28:54only thing you were ever right about.
28:56They were watching and this time they
28:58saw me. She hung up. My father never
29:01called at all. I heard from Harold
29:04Briggs that he had started going to a
29:05small country church outside Decatur on
29:07Sunday mornings, sitting in the back pew
29:10where nobody knew him. I hope somebody
29:12there preaches about Leah someday. I
29:14hope he listens differently this time.
29:16That Christmas, I renewed my driver's
29:19license. New photo, 33 years old, no
29:22makeup, hair pulled back, squinting a
29:25little in the light at the DMV on
29:26Memorial Parkway. The woman behind the
29:29counter handed it to me and said, Sign
29:31here, honey. I picked up the pen on its
29:34little chain. Behind me, a toddler was
29:36crying and a man was arguing about a
29:38parking ticket and the number on the
29:40screen kept changing. Nobody was
29:42watching. Nobody had ever really been
29:45watching. I signed my name, Leah, the
29:48older sister, the one in the Bible that
29:50nobody chose. My father once stood in
29:53front of 1,800 people and said God sees
29:56the ones nobody else chooses. Maybe he
29:59does, but that year for the first time
30:01in my life, I didn't wait for anybody to
30:03choose me. I signed my own name in my
30:06own hand on the only document that ever
30:08needed it.

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