Chapter 2 - The Sentence Diane Shouldn’t Have Said
Mark called back thirty seconds later.
“Bad connection.”
“No.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Dr. Stevens and the nurse were both watching.
“How did you know?”
Mark hesitated.
“I assumed.”
“You assumed your mother secretly drugged our daughter?”
“That isn’t what I said.”
I put the phone on speaker.
“Then explain.”
His breathing changed.
“Rachel, just wait until I get there.”
That was not an answer.
I called Diane instead.
“What have you been giving Emma?”
“Her vitamins.”
“The orange bottle with your name on it.”
Silence.
Then she laughed.
That laugh erased any possibility that this had been a misunderstanding.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. One tiny pill helps her settle down.”
Dr. Stevens immediately began writing.
“You gave it to her every night?”
“You’re twisting this.”
“What did you tell Emma would happen if she told me?”
“Nothing.”
Emma looked toward the phone.
“You said Daddy would make Mommy leave.”
Diane’s voice hardened.
“She’s confused because of the medication.”
Dr. Stevens stopped writing.
The nurse stared at him.
Then both looked at me.
Diane had just blamed the effects of a medication she had spent the previous minute minimizing.
Dr. Stevens quietly mouthed:
Keep her talking.
“Why does Emma need to be medicated?”
“She gets difficult.”
“She’s four.”
“You spoil her.”
“Twenty-one nights, Diane.”
“You don’t understand what that child is like when you aren’t around.”
Something about those words bothered me.
“What is she like?”
Another pause.
Then Diane said:
“Ask Mark.”
The call ended.
A social worker arrived soon afterward.
Because the dosing appeared deliberate, the clinic was required to report it.
Diane arrived before my husband.
She stormed down the corridor wearing her knee brace and demanded her bottle.
“That is my private prescription!”
The nurse blocked her.
“It’s evidence now.”
Diane pointed at me.
“She stole it.”
Emma buried her face against my side.
“She’s unstable,” Diane continued. “Ask my son.”
Then I remembered the camera.
A baby monitor above Emma’s bookshelf saved motion-triggered clips to cloud storage.
I opened the app.
Twenty-three recordings.
My hands began shaking.
The social worker connected my phone to the clinic tablet.
The first video loaded.
Diane appeared beside Emma’s bed.
She was crushing something into applesauce.
Across the hallway, Diane saw the screen.
Her face changed.
“Turn that off.”
Nobody moved.
“TURN IT OFF!”
Two security officers stepped behind her.
Then Emma tugged my sleeve.
“Mommy…”
“What?”
“That’s not the worst video.”
I looked down.
“What do you mean?”
May you like
She pointed toward recording number twenty-three.
“The night Daddy came in.”
