Chapter 7
The mother asked her whether she knew why the name was there.
The friend said she did not.
The caregiver immediately accused her of lying.
The friend snapped back that she had only come because the caregiver asked her to help.
That sentence stopped everyone.
Help with what?
The friend looked toward the nursery.
Then she looked at the chili powder on the floor.
She finally admitted she had been told to hold the baby’s arm still.
She claimed she had not known why.
The mother asked whether she had seen the caregiver prepare the powder.
The friend nodded.
The caregiver told her to stop talking.
The friend did not.
She said the caregiver had told her the baby’s mother could not know about it.
The mother stared at her.
The caregiver denied saying that.
The friend repeated it.
Then she added one more detail.
The caregiver had also told her that if anyone came into the nursery, the door needed to stay shut.
The mother looked at the closed doorway.
It was still open now.
The scattered supplies were still there.
Nothing about the room looked like a misunderstanding anymore.
Still, there was a difference between knowing that something was wrong and knowing why it had happened.
The form was the first clue that connected the physical incident to something beyond that single moment.
The mother asked where the caregiver had gotten the emergency-contact information.
The caregiver said she did not remember.
That answer was not believable anymore.
The mother asked again.
The caregiver said she had been under stress.
The mother did not accept that either.
She turned toward me and asked whether I had seen any other paperwork during the examination.
May you like
I told her what I knew.
I had seen the form after it fell from the bag.
