Chapter 2
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Lily’s crying filled the room.
Patricia stared at Ethan’s phone.
The tears on her face stopped as quickly as they had started.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
Ethan didn’t answer.
He tapped the screen and turned the volume up.
Patricia’s voice came through the tiny speaker.
Clear.
Cold.
Nothing like the trembling woman standing in front of us.
“Once Emily is gone, the baby will belong to us.”
Then another voice answered.
A man.
Low and distorted by the nursery camera.
“You promised Ethan would cooperate.”
My blood went cold.
Ethan replayed it.
Patricia lunged for the phone.
He stepped backward.
“Don’t.”
“Give me that.”
“Who is he?”
“You’re misunderstanding this.”
“Who is he?”
Patricia’s eyes moved toward the hallway.
That was all Ethan needed to see.
He shut the bedroom door and locked it.
“Answer me.”
I tried to stand.
The room tilted.
Ethan immediately reached for me.
I flinched.
The movement stopped him.
Pain crossed his face.
“Emily.”
“Don’t touch me.”
His hand fell.
Patricia saw it.
And smiled.
It was small.
Almost invisible.
But I saw it.
She wanted us divided.
She had probably been working on it long before Lily was born.
I grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled myself upright.
“Play everything.”
Patricia snapped her head toward me.
“No.”
Ethan stared at her.
I said it again.
“Play everything she said.”
Ethan opened the camera application.
His thumb trembled as he dragged backward through the recording.
We heard Patricia enter the nursery while I was asleep earlier that morning.
She was whispering into her phone.
“I told you, she barely sleeps.”
A pause.
“She’s emotional. Exhausted. It won’t be difficult.”
Another pause.
“No, Ethan still believes me.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
Patricia moved toward him.
“That could mean anything.”
He raised one hand.
“Stay there.”
Her face changed.
Not much.
But enough.
The sweetness vanished.
The helpless mother disappeared.
For the first time, Ethan was seeing what I had been seeing.
He kept playing the video.
Patricia’s recorded voice continued.
“The doctor already documented that she was anxious after delivery.”
My stomach twisted.
“What doctor?”
Ethan looked at me.
I shook my head.
“I never told her that.”
Patricia interrupted.
“Every new mother gets anxious.”
But the recording kept going.
“If we can get Ethan to say she’s unpredictable, we’ll have enough.”
The male voice answered.
“And if he refuses?”
Patricia smiled on camera.
“He won’t.”
Ethan shut off the recording.
His face looked gray.
“What is enough for what?”
Patricia folded her arms.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“For what?”
She stared at him.
Then at me.
Then at Lily.
And something inside me screamed that she was calculating.
Not panicking.
Calculating.
I moved between her and the bassinet.
“Get out.”
Patricia laughed.
“This is my son’s house.”
“It’s my house too.”
“Not if he decides you’re unsafe.”
Ethan’s head snapped up.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“You need to leave.”
Patricia looked genuinely stunned.
Then furious.
“You’re throwing your mother out because of her?”
“Because I watched you attack my wife.”
“She attacked me first!”
“I watched the video.”
“She manipulated you.”
“I watched you grab her.”
“She was keeping my granddaughter from me.”
“My daughter,” Ethan said.
Patricia blinked.
He stepped closer.
“My daughter. Emily’s daughter. Not yours.”
Her face hardened.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing.”
“Pack your things.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’ll call the police.”
The room went silent.
Patricia stared at him.
“You would call the police on your own mother?”
Ethan looked toward the red marks on my scalp.
Then at the scratches Patricia had made on herself.
“Yes.”
She took one step closer.
“After everything I did for you?”
“I said leave.”
“You ungrateful little—”
Her phone rang.
All three of us froze.
Patricia looked at the screen.
Then quickly declined the call.
Ethan noticed.
“Who was that?”
“No one.”
He held out his hand.
“Give me your phone.”
She laughed.
“You’re not searching my property.”
“Then tell me who called.”
“No.”
The phone rang again.
This time I saw the name.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
MARCUS.
Patricia shoved the phone into her pocket.
Ethan saw my expression.
“What?”
I looked at him.
“Marcus.”
Patricia’s face went blank.
Ethan whispered, “Marcus who?”
She said nothing.
Ethan’s breathing changed.
I knew that name meant something.
“Who is Marcus?” I asked.
Ethan kept staring at his mother.
“There was a Marcus when I was a kid.”
Patricia said sharply, “Stop.”
“He was around after Dad died.”
“Ethan.”
“You told me he moved to Arizona.”
“He did.”
“Then why is he calling you?”
Patricia walked toward the door.
Ethan blocked her.
“Move.”
“No.”
Her voice dropped.
“Move now.”
“No.”
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then smiled again.
That same horrible little smile.
“You think the recording changes anything?”
Ethan’s expression tightened.
Patricia looked at me.
“Emily has already done most of the work for us.”
I felt sick.
“What does that mean?”
She tilted her head.
“You’ve cried in front of nurses.”
I stared at her.
“You told your doctor you were overwhelmed.”
“That’s normal.”
“You called Ethan twice last night because you thought Lily was breathing strangely.”
I looked at my husband.
He looked confused.
Patricia continued.
“You haven’t been eating. You barely sleep. You’re afraid to let anyone hold the baby.”
“Because you keep taking her!”
Patricia ignored me.
“And now?”
She touched the scratches on her arm.
“An injured elderly woman.”
“You did that to yourself,” Ethan said.
“Prove it.”
“The camera did.”
“The camera doesn’t show every angle.”
My heart began pounding.
She had thought this through.
This wasn’t an argument that went too far.
This was a plan.
Ethan seemed to realize it at the same moment.
He unlocked the bedroom door.
“Go pack.”
Patricia didn’t move.
“I said pack.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Go.”
She stepped into the hallway.
Then she turned.
Her eyes settled on Lily.
“Enjoy tonight.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
Patricia smiled.
“Nothing.”
She walked away.
Ethan closed the door behind her.
I immediately went to Lily.
My hands were shaking so badly that I could barely lift her.
She settled against my chest.
For six days, I had wondered if I was doing everything wrong.
Patricia had questioned every diaper.
Every feeding.
Every sound Lily made.
Too warm.
Too cold.
Too hungry.
Overfed.
Held too much.
Not held enough.
And Ethan had kept telling me his mother had experience.
Now I understood.
She hadn’t been helping.
She had been weakening me.
Ethan stood behind me.
“Emily.”
I didn’t turn around.
“I’m sorry.”
I closed my eyes.
“That doesn’t fix it.”
“I know.”
“You believed her.”
“I know.”
“You let her make me feel crazy in my own house.”
“I know.”
“She told you something was wrong with me, didn’t she?”
Silence.
I turned.
“What did she tell you?”
Ethan looked ashamed.
“She said you might have postpartum depression.”
My throat tightened.
“And?”
“She said you were hiding how bad it was.”
“And you believed her.”
“I was worried.”
“You never asked me.”
“I did ask if you were okay.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
He had no answer.
I looked away.
Then something occurred to me.
“How did she know what I told my doctor?”
Ethan frowned.
“What?”
“She mentioned my doctor documented anxiety.”
“Maybe you told her.”
“I didn’t.”
“Maybe she overheard—”
“No.”
I remembered something.
Two days after we came home from the hospital, Patricia had insisted on organizing the kitchen.
My purse had been on the counter.
Inside it was the discharge folder from the hospital.
Medical papers.
Follow-up instructions.
Information about postpartum symptoms.
And my insurance card.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“She went through my hospital paperwork.”
Ethan stared at me.
“She knew exactly what she was looking for.”
A crash sounded downstairs.
Then silence.
Ethan moved toward the door.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Emily—”
“I’m not staying alone.”
We carried Lily downstairs together.
Patricia’s suitcase stood near the front door.
But Patricia wasn’t there.
The guest room was empty.
The back door was open.
Ethan ran outside.
I stayed near the kitchen, holding Lily.
“Mom!”
Nothing.
Then Ethan shouted from the driveway.
“Her car’s gone.”
I looked toward the counter.
Something white caught my eye.
An envelope.
My name was written across it.
EMILY.
I picked it up.
Inside were photocopies.
My medical records.
A draft petition.
And a typed statement with Ethan’s name printed beneath it.
I read the first paragraph.
My knees nearly gave out.
It said Ethan believed I was mentally unstable.
It said he feared I could hurt Lily.
It said he wanted temporary emergency custody.
But the signature line was empty.
Ethan came inside.
“What is it?”
I handed him the papers.
His face changed as he read.
“I never wrote this.”
“I know.”
He flipped through the pages.
Then stopped.
There was one final sheet.
A printed email.
From Patricia.
To someone named Marcus Hale.
The subject line read:
FINAL STEP.
Ethan looked at me.
I looked at him.
He opened the email.
May you like
Patricia had written only one sentence.
“Tomorrow morning, we take the baby.”
