She didn't blame Harriet. She knew the older woman was just trying to protect her. The problem was that they had both underestimated the sheer, malicious depths of Hackett and Clarissa's depravity.
"Do you remember the address of that apartment?" Annelise asked, her voice completely devoid of a single ripple of emotion, projecting nothing but absolute composure.
Harriet blinked, surprised by the immediate pragmatism of the question. Looking up through her tears, she nodded vigorously.
"I do. I was so shaken up that day, I went home and secretly wrote it down in my notebook. I was afraid... I might need it one day."
"Write it down for me," Annelise said.
Harriet quickly rummaged through her canvas tote, pulling out a small notepad and a pen. With trembling hands, she scribbled the address, tore the page out, and handed it over.
18 Havenwood Avenue, Building B, Suite 701.
Annelise took the small scrap of paper, memorized it in one glance, and carefully folded it in half, then in half again, before sliding it deep beneath her pillow.
Another crucial piece had just snapped into place in the horrific puzzle of their lies and betrayal.
Hackett and Clarissa didn't just have a child together; they had built a secret life in a completely separate "home," a hidden sanctuary specifically designed to shelter their filthy affair and illegitimate son.
Meanwhile, Annelise—the official, legal Mrs. Lehman—had spent the last four years sitting like an absolute fool in an empty, gilded cage, blindly waiting for a dream that was never going to come true.
What an absolute joke!
Just then, three measured knocks echoed against the hospital door.
They were heavy, rhythmic, and carried an undeniable air of authority.
Startled, Harriet scrambled to wipe her tears, quickly standing up and smoothing out her uniform, terrified of looking out of place.
Annelise's gaze immediately sharpened, burying every ounce of her swirling emotions straight back beneath the icy surface.
Harriet walked over and pulled the door open.

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