Chapter 4
I almost didn’t answer.
Ryan stared at my screen.
“Pick up.”
My thumb hovered over the button.
Then I answered.
“Hello?”
A calm woman introduced herself as Angela Morales.
She said a report had been made concerning the safety of an infant in our home.
My knees weakened.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
Linda had wasted no time.
Angela asked whether she could visit.
I wanted to scream no.
Instead, I forced myself to think.
“Can my attorney be present?”
There was a pause.
“You’re certainly allowed to consult with an attorney.”
I didn’t have one.
But I was going to.
“When do you want to come?”
“Given the age of the child, I’d like to speak with you today.”
Ryan mouthed, Is she coming?
I nodded.
Angela continued.
“Is the child currently safe?”
“Yes.”
“Who is with him?”
“I am. His father is here too.”
“Is the paternal grandmother present?”
“No.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No.”
Another pause.
Then Angela asked, “Are you aware of allegations that you physically assaulted her while holding your child?”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“I slapped her after she poured milk over my three-month-old son and grabbed my wrist.”
Ryan closed his eyes.
Angela’s voice stayed neutral.
“Thank you for explaining. I’ll need more detail in person.”
“She has a history.”
Ryan looked up.
“What kind of history?”
I looked at him.
He nodded.
So I told her.
A baby daughter.
Cold water.
A death.
A conviction.
For the first time, Angela’s tone changed.
“Do you have documentation?”
“Yes.”
Some of it.
Not enough.
But yes.
“I’ll be there at six.”
When the call ended, Ryan immediately said, “We need a lawyer.”
“My sister knows someone.”
I called my older sister, Megan.
She answered on the first ring.
“I saw the video.”
“I need help.”
“Tell me where you are.”
“Home.”
“I’m coming.”
“Megan, I need a family lawyer.”
She was silent for half a second.
Then she said, “I know exactly who to call.”
Forty minutes later, Megan entered our house carrying a laptop, a legal pad, and enough anger for all of us.
She hugged me carefully around Noah.
Then she looked at Ryan.
“You.”
Ryan didn’t argue.
Megan pointed at him.
“You let that woman stay here knowing her history?”
“Yes.”
“You left Sarah alone with her?”
“Yes.”
“You gave your mother private information about my sister?”
“Yes.”
Megan stepped closer.
“If Sarah didn’t need you right now, I’d throw you through that window myself.”
“Megan,” I said quietly.
She took a breath.
Then nodded.
“Later.”
A woman named Claire Donovan joined us by video call.
She was a family-law attorney Megan had worked with during her divorce.
Claire listened without interrupting.
When Ryan finished explaining Emily, Claire removed her glasses.
“Do you have proof of the prior case?”
“We have newspaper clippings and some court documents.”
“Photograph everything.”
Megan was already doing it.
“Do you have any evidence of what happened today besides the edited video?”
“The cameras had memory cards, but Linda took them.”
Claire’s expression sharpened.
“Cloud backup?”
Ryan shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Find out.”
We pulled down every camera.
Ryan searched model numbers.
I checked our router.
Megan looked through account settings.
Finally, Ryan froze.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“These cameras were connected to our Wi-Fi.”
“So?”
“They have cloud storage.”
My heart slammed.
“Can you access it?”
“I don’t know.”
He opened the manufacturer’s website.
The account required an email address.
Ryan tried his.
Nothing.
Mine.
Nothing.
Then he typed Linda’s.
The password screen appeared.
Megan leaned closer.
“She created the account.”
Claire spoke through the laptop.
“Do not try random passwords. Preserve everything.”
Ryan stared at the screen.
“But the footage is there.”
“Possibly. And if law enforcement gets a warrant or your lawyer issues the right preservation request, it may stay there.”
I hated that answer.
I wanted the video now.
I wanted the world to see Noah screaming.
I wanted everyone who had called me a monster to watch Linda hold that bottle over him.
Claire continued.
“Photograph the devices. Screenshot the network information. Do not alter them further.”
Megan did.
Then she looked at me.
“What else?”
I remembered the petition.
Claire asked us to scan every page.
As she read, her face changed.
“This is not a filed custody petition.”
“I know.”
“But it was prepared by someone who understands legal formatting.”
“Could Linda have written it?”
“She could have copied a template. But this looks professionally drafted.”
Ryan went pale.
“You think she has a lawyer?”
“Maybe.”
I looked at the signature line.
It was blank.
But at the bottom of one page was a tiny file code.
Megan zoomed in.
DHC-7841.
Claire frowned.
“That could mean nothing.”
Megan searched the internet anyway.
Then she stopped.
“What?”
She turned the laptop.
Dallas Heritage Custody Associates.
A law office.
Ryan whispered, “She hired somebody.”
Claire’s expression hardened.
“We don’t know that yet.”
The doorbell rang.
Everyone froze.
It was five fifty-eight.
Angela stood outside.
Beside her was a uniformed police officer.
I held Noah tighter.
Claire said, “Stay calm. Tell the truth. Do not speculate.”
Ryan opened the door.
Angela introduced herself.
The officer was Sergeant Harris.
His presence scared me until he explained that Ryan’s earlier call about Linda had been logged and he was there because both reports involved the same incident.
Angela asked to see Noah.
I handed him over only after she explained what she needed to check.
She examined his scalp and face.
The milk was gone.
I had cleaned him.
But a faint red patch remained near his right eye where liquid had irritated the skin.
Angela photographed it.
“Was this here before today?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Did the bottle strike him?”
“No. She poured it over him.”
“Was the milk hot?”
“No.”
“Cold?”
“Room temperature.”
Angela nodded.
Then she asked Ryan to tell his version.
He did.
Every detail.
Including my slap.
Including his mother’s history.
Including his failure to tell me about it.
Angela asked, “Why did you allow your mother unsupervised access to Noah?”
Ryan stared at his hands.
“There isn’t a good answer.”
“I need your answer.”
He swallowed.
“Because I convinced myself what happened to Emily was thirty-six years ago and my mother had changed.”
“Had you seen evidence she had changed?”
He hesitated.
“No.”
Angela wrote something down.
My heart sank.
Then Sergeant Harris asked about the cameras.
Ryan showed them.
Harris looked at the model.
“These record online?”
“We think so.”
“Whose account?”
“My mother’s.”
He made a note.
“Do you have documentation that she installed them?”
“No.”
I remembered something.
“Maybe.”
Everyone looked at me.
“The doorbell camera.”
Ryan’s eyes widened.
Our exterior doorbell stored thirty days of footage under our own account.
We opened the app.
Three weeks earlier.
Linda arriving.
Carrying a small shopping bag.
The next morning.
Ryan left for work at 7:12.
At 7:26, Linda stepped outside, moved a ladder from the garage to the side of the house, then went back in.
Forty minutes later, she returned the ladder.
Another day showed her carrying packaging toward the outside trash bin.
Ryan ran to the garage.
He came back holding a cardboard box.
Wireless indoor security camera.
Same brand.
Same model.
Sergeant Harris photographed it.
“Don’t throw anything away.”
Angela’s questions continued for almost two hours.
She inspected Noah’s nursery.
His crib.
Formula.
Diapers.
Medication.
The refrigerator.
She spoke with me alone.
Then Ryan alone.
When she finished, I expected her to say Noah was being removed.
Instead, she closed her notebook.
“I’m not removing Noah from the home tonight.”
My legs nearly gave out.
“But this investigation remains open.”
I nodded quickly.
“Of course.”
“Until we understand what happened, Linda should have no contact with the child.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
Angela looked at Ryan.
“This includes supervised contact unless otherwise approved.”
Ryan nodded.
“She won’t see him.”
After they left, I finally cried.
Not quiet tears.
Ugly, shaking sobs.
Megan took Noah.
Ryan reached for me.
I backed away.
His hands fell.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not tonight.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
He looked at me.
“You knew your mother had caused the death of your twin sister.”
His face tightened.
“You knew she had been building a case against me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You gave her the pieces.”
“I know.”
“You told her my most vulnerable moments.”
“I know.”
“You invited her into our house.”
“I know.”
“And every night she slept twenty feet from our son.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
I wiped my face.
“Then stop saying sorry like it fixes anything.”
He looked down.
Megan carried Noah toward me.
Before she reached me, her phone rang.
She glanced at it.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
Her expression changed.
“What?”
I stood.
“What is it?”
Megan put the phone on speaker.
A man’s voice came through.
“Mrs. Carter?”
“No. This is her sister.”
“I’m calling regarding Mrs. Linda Walker.”
Ryan stepped closer.
“Who is this?”
The man ignored him.
“Please tell Sarah Carter that Mrs. Walker has been admitted to Methodist Dallas Medical Center.”
My stomach twisted.
“Why?”
There was a pause.
“She claims her daughter-in-law assaulted her earlier today and that she later collapsed from complications related to the attack.”
Ryan whispered, “No.”
May you like
The man continued.
“And she has requested that police pursue criminal charges.”
