Chapter 4
The pediatrician told us to have Nora examined.
Grace drove with me.
Michael said he would come separately after “settling Mom down.”
I almost asked him to repeat that.
Our newborn had just been found alone in a bathtub.
And Diane needed settling down.
At the hospital, Nora was evaluated.
Thankfully, everything looked normal.
The doctor explained what symptoms to watch for and documented what happened.
Then a nurse asked whether we wanted to speak privately.
I said yes.
Grace waited outside.
For the first time that afternoon, I allowed myself to shake.
The nurse asked:
“Who was supervising the baby?”
“My mother-in-law.”
“Where was she when the nanny found her?”
“I don’t know.”
That sentence terrified me.
I don’t know.
I realized how much of that afternoon depended on Diane’s explanation.
Then I remembered the phone.
“There’s a video.”
The nurse looked up.
“What kind of video?”
“My mother-in-law was recording the bathroom.”
Her expression changed.
“Do you have access to it?”
“Her phone is with my husband.”
I called Michael.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Then I called Grace.
She was ten feet away, but she came in.
“Did Michael leave the house with Diane?”
I asked.
Grace’s eyes sharpened.
“He said he was staying.”
“Call him.”
She did.
Nothing.
I opened the family location app we occasionally used.
Michael’s phone showed our house.
Diane’s showed moving south.
“What is she doing?”
Grace asked.
I stared at the screen.
“I don’t know.”
Then Michael finally called.
“Claire.”
“Where is your mother?”
“She went home.”
“Why?”
“She was upset.”
“Where is the phone?”
Silence.
My entire body tightened.
“Michael.”
“I gave it back.”
“You gave her the phone?”
“It’s hers.”
“It contains the only recording of what happened to our daughter.”
“Claire, she made a mistake.”
“Then why did she need the phone?”
He sighed.
“You’re spiraling.”
That word.
Spiraling.
I had heard it repeatedly since giving birth.
You’re anxious.
You’re exhausted.
You’re hormonal.
You’re overthinking.
Sometimes all of those things were true.
That did not make me wrong.
“Tell her not to delete the video.”
“I’m not going to order my mother around.”
“Then I will.”
I called Diane.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
I sent a message.
DO NOT DELETE THE VIDEO FROM THE BATHROOM.
May you like
The message showed delivered.
No response.
