Chapter 4
Michael walked into the hallway before Rebecca finished speaking.
I followed him.
“What didn’t she tell me?”
Rebecca sounded frightened now.
“Not over the phone.”
“Rebecca, my son is in a hospital. You don’t get to say something like that and then stop.”
“I know.”
“Then talk.”
There was a long pause.
“When Dad left, he didn’t just disappear.”
Michael’s face hardened.
“That’s exactly what he did.”
“No.”
“He packed his things while we were at school.”
“That’s what Mom told us.”
“What are you saying?”
Rebecca inhaled slowly.
“Dad came back.”
Michael stared at the wall.
“What?”
“Twice.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I would remember that.”
“You weren’t there.”
“How convenient.”
“I was.”
Michael’s voice dropped.
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
He had been eleven.
Rebecca continued.
“Mom made me promise never to tell you.”
“Why would you agree?”
“Because I was a kid and she scared me!”
Her voice broke.
Michael closed his eyes.
I touched his arm.
He didn’t pull away.
“What happened?” he asked.
“The first time Dad came back, he was angry. He and Mom fought in the driveway. He said she’d been putting things in his drinks.”
Michael’s eyes opened.
My skin prickled.
“What things?”
“I don’t know. He said she wanted him groggy because it made him easier to control.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Michael, listen to me.”
He said nothing.
“The second time, he brought a police officer.”
Michael nearly dropped the phone.
“What?”
“He wanted to get some belongings. Mom wouldn’t let him inside unless the officer stayed.”
“Why was this never in the divorce papers?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because Mom told everyone Dad was unstable.”
I looked at Michael.
The expression on his face was devastating.
For his entire life, Patricia had given him one story.
His father abandoned them.
His mother sacrificed everything.
His sister apparently knew there was more.
“Where is Dad now?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve never contacted him?”
“I tried once when I was twenty.”
“And?”
“Mom found out.”
Rebecca’s voice went quieter.
“She didn’t speak to me for almost six months.”
Michael laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“That sounds like Mom.”
“Exactly.”
He leaned against the hospital wall.
“Go to the house.”
“I will.”
“Don’t tell Mom why.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Make something up.”
“And if I find the bottle?”
“Don’t open it. Don’t touch more than you have to. Put it somewhere safe and call me.”
I stepped closer.
“Take pictures first.”
Rebecca heard me.
“Sarah?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry about what happened.”
I blinked.
“You know?”
“Mom called me before Michael did.”
Of course she had.
“What did she tell you?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“That you attacked her.”
Michael looked away.
I said, “She was forcing milk into Noah’s mouth.”
“I believe you.”
Those words almost made me cry.
Not because Rebecca and I were close.
We weren’t.
But because someone from Michael’s family had finally said it.
I believe you.
Rebecca continued.
“She also told me you were trying to turn Michael against her.”
“I’m trying to protect my baby.”
“I know.”
Michael said, “Go, Rebecca.”
“I’m leaving now.”
The call ended.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Michael looked at me.
“You knew my mom had a problem with Dad.”
“No.”
“You never heard anything?”
“Only her version.”
“What did she tell you?”
“The same thing she tells everyone. He cheated. He disappeared. He never cared about you.”
Michael’s face twisted.
“That’s what I believed my entire life.”
I squeezed his hand.
“This might not mean Rebecca knows everything either.”
“Are you defending Mom now?”
“No. I’m saying we need facts.”
He looked at me strangely.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“You have more reason than anyone to hate her right now, and you’re still trying to be fair.”
“I’m not interested in hating her.”
I looked through the small hospital window toward Noah’s room.
“I just want him safe.”
A social worker arrived twenty minutes later.
Her name was Danielle.
She was kind but direct.
She asked where Noah lived.
Who had access to him.
Who prepared his bottles.
Whether Michael or I used sleep medication.
Whether there were prescription drugs in the house.
Whether anyone had ever intentionally given Noah an unapproved substance.
When I described Patricia’s behavior earlier that day, Danielle stopped writing.
“She physically restrained you while you were holding the baby?”
“She grabbed my hair.”
“And pushed you?”
“Yes.”
“Did the baby fall?”
“No.”
“Was he injured?”
“Not that I know of.”
Michael spoke quietly.
“I witnessed the end of it.”
Danielle looked at him.
“What did you see?”
“My mother had Sarah’s hair in her hand.”
“Did you see who initiated the confrontation?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
He quickly added, “But I saw the bottle on the floor, and Sarah told me what happened.”
Danielle wrote again.
“Is there a safe alternative residence available?”
“My sister Emily,” I said immediately.
Michael looked at me.
Danielle noticed.
“Do you both agree that Patricia’s home may not be appropriate until this is resolved?”
I said, “Yes.”
Michael hesitated.
That hesitation hurt.
Then he nodded.
“Yes.”
Danielle looked at him carefully.
“Mr. Turner, this isn’t about punishing your mother. It’s about reducing risk while we understand the medical findings.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
He looked at Noah.
Then at me.
“Yes.”
His phone rang.
Rebecca.
He answered instantly.
“Did you find it?”
Her breathing was fast.
“I found more than the bottle.”
“What?”
“Michael, I need you to stay calm.”
“What did you find?”
“Mom caught me in the kitchen.”
His face changed.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She asked what I was doing. I said I lost an earring.”
“And?”
“She knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I was looking for something.”
I felt cold.
Rebecca continued.
“She took the brown bottle from a cabinet before I could reach it.”
Michael started pacing.
“Did she throw it away?”
“No.”
“Then where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“She put it in her pocket.”
Michael swore.
“But before she did, I took a picture.”
“Send it.”
“I already did.”
His phone chimed.
We crowded around the screen.
The photograph was slightly blurry.
But the label was visible.
HERBAL CALMING DROPS.
Below it was smaller print.
Not intended for children under twelve.
Michael stared.
“That doesn’t prove she gave it to Noah.”
“No,” I said.
But another message arrived.
A second photograph.
A measuring syringe.
A tiny infant medicine syringe.
Beside the bottle.
Rebecca’s voice came through the phone.
“Michael, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“I found a notebook in the cabinet.”
My heart sank.
“Mom’s?”
“Yes.”
“What’s in it?”
“Dates.”
“What dates?”
Rebecca’s voice trembled.
“Dates and amounts.”
Michael stopped moving.
“Amounts of what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Read it.”
Rebecca turned a page.
“August eighth. Two drops. Slept two hours.”
My knees weakened.
Michael’s mouth opened.
Rebecca continued.
“August tenth. Three drops. Too fussy afterward.”
I grabbed the chair beside me.
“Keep reading.”
“August fifteenth. Two drops before nap.”
Michael whispered, “No.”
Rebecca’s voice cracked.
“August nineteenth. Three drops. Sarah almost came in.”
Everything inside me went silent.
She had documented it.
Patricia had documented giving something to my son.
Like an experiment.
Like he belonged to her.
Michael leaned against the wall.
Rebecca said, “There are more.”
“How many?”
“Almost three weeks.”
I covered my mouth.
Michael looked like he might be sick.
“Take pictures of every page.”
“I am.”
“Bring the notebook to the hospital.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Mom took it.”
“What?”
“She grabbed it when she saw me reading.”
“Rebecca!”
“I tried!”
In the background, I heard Patricia shouting.
Even through the phone.
“You have no right!”
Rebecca yelled back, “Neither did you!”
Then there was a crash.
Michael shouted, “Rebecca?”
“I’m fine.”
“Get out of the house.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Now.”
“I am!”
We heard a door slam.
Then Rebecca’s breathing.
“I’m outside.”
Michael closed his eyes.
“Drive here.”
“I will.”
The call ended.
Danielle, the social worker, had heard almost everything.
Her face had changed.
“This information needs to be documented immediately.”
Michael looked at her.
“What happens now?”
“I’m contacting the medical team.”
“And?”
“Depending on what they confirm, law enforcement may need to be involved.”
Michael’s face twisted.
“That’s my mother.”
Danielle answered quietly.
“And Noah is your son.”
He looked at me.
This time, he didn’t hesitate.
“Call whoever you need to call.”
An hour later, two police officers entered the pediatric floor.
And just as one officer began asking me to describe what had happened in Patricia’s kitchen, the elevator opened.
Patricia stepped out.
She looked at the officers.
Then at Michael.
May you like
Then at me.
And for the first time since I had known her, Patricia looked afraid.
