Chapter 6
“My name?”
Michael nodded.
“That’s what the detective said.”
I stared at him.
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“I’ve never given your mother any of my medical records.”
“I know.”
“Did he say what was in it?”
“No.”
My pulse began racing.
Patricia had always been invasive.
But this felt different.
More organized.
More deliberate.
Like she had been building files on people.
“What else did they find?”
“Prescription bottles. Old ones. Some in Dad’s name.”
“From the nineties?”
“Some of them.”
“Why would she keep those?”
Michael shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Dr. Collins came in before we could continue.
Noah had gone several hours without another event.
If his monitoring remained stable, she said, discharge might be possible the following day.
Under one condition.
He could not return to Patricia’s home.
“That won’t happen,” I said immediately.
Michael nodded.
“We’re staying with Sarah’s sister.”
Dr. Collins looked relieved.
Later, a detective named Alvarez arrived.
He asked if we were willing to provide formal statements.
“Yes,” I said.
Michael said yes too.
Detective Alvarez sat across from us.
He was calm.
Almost gentle.
But his questions were exact.
He asked me to describe the first time I noticed Noah acting strangely.
The first time I saw the dropper bottle.
Every occasion Patricia cared for Noah alone.
Whether Patricia had access to his formula.
She did.
Whether she prepared bottles.
Sometimes.
Whether I ever gave permission for sleep aids.
Never.
Whether I had ever heard Patricia talk about using medication to calm children.
I thought carefully.
“Not medication.”
“What did she say?”
“She used to joke that Michael was a terrible sleeper as a baby.”
Michael looked at me.
“She said she had her ways.”
Detective Alvarez wrote it down.
“What ways?”
“She never said.”
Michael suddenly spoke.
“She used to tell me a story.”
The detective turned.
“What story?”
“When I was little, I’d fall asleep during family parties. Mom said I could sleep through anything.”
Rebecca, who was visiting again, sat near the window.
She looked at him.
“She said that about me too.”
Michael frowned.
Rebecca continued.
“Remember Aunt Linda’s Christmas party?”
“Not really.”
“I do.”
She looked at Detective Alvarez.
“We were kids. Mom would give us something before long events.”
Michael stared.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why have you never told me any of this?”
“Because I forgot until now.”
Her eyes filled.
“You don’t understand what it was like being the older kid. I saw things you didn’t.”
Michael’s anger disappeared.
“I’m sorry.”
Rebecca wiped her eyes.
“Mom called everything medicine.”
The detective asked, “Did she ever say what it was for?”
“To help us settle down.”
He took notes.
Then he asked Michael something unexpected.
“Do you have contact information for your father?”
“No.”
Rebecca said, “His name is David Turner.”
Detective Alvarez nodded.
“We can locate him.”
Michael looked uncomfortable.
“For the investigation?”
“Possibly.”
Michael leaned back.
I knew what that meant.
Meeting the father he had spent twenty years believing abandoned him.
All because Patricia’s secrets were finally coming apart.
Detective Alvarez then turned to me.
“We recovered a folder with your name.”
“Yes.”
“Would you like to know what it contains?”
I looked at Michael.
Then nodded.
“Copies of appointment summaries.”
My stomach dropped.
“What appointments?”
“Your obstetric appointments during pregnancy.”
I stopped breathing.
“That’s impossible.”
“Do you know how she might have obtained them?”
“No.”
“Could your husband have had access?”
I looked at Michael.
He immediately shook his head.
“I didn’t give Mom anything.”
Detective Alvarez continued.
“There were also printed emails.”
“What emails?”
“Some appear to be between you and your obstetric provider.”
I felt sick.
“How?”
“We’re investigating that.”
Michael looked horrified.
“Mom doesn’t know Sarah’s passwords.”
“Did she ever have physical access to Sarah’s phone or computer?”
I laughed once.
Bitterly.
“We lived in her house.”
The detective nodded.
“Then that may be relevant.”
“What exactly was she collecting?”
He hesitated.
“There were notes attached.”
My skin prickled.
“What notes?”
He read from his notebook.
“Anxiety increasing.”
I stared at him.
“Dependency on sister.”
Another.
“Questions medical advice constantly.”
Michael’s face turned pale.
And then the worst.
“May not be emotionally prepared for motherhood.”
My throat closed.
Those weren’t medical notes.
Those were Patricia’s notes.
About me.
“She was building a case,” I whispered.
Michael looked at me.
It was exactly what Patricia had accused me of doing.
He understood at the same moment.
“She said Sarah was building a case against me,” he said.
Detective Alvarez looked up.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Can you repeat exactly what she said?”
Michael did.
The detective wrote everything.
I hugged my arms around myself.
For months, Patricia had called me anxious.
Oversensitive.
Unstable.
She told relatives I was having trouble adjusting.
She said Michael needed to “keep an eye on me.”
I had assumed she was insulting me.
Now I wondered whether she had been preparing a narrative.
“What was she planning?” I asked.
No one answered.
That afternoon, Emily arrived with clothes for us.
She hugged me so tightly I almost collapsed.
Then she looked at Michael.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Finally Emily said, “Your mother is not coming near Sarah or Noah.”
Michael nodded.
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“If you defend Patricia—”
“I’m not going to.”
Emily studied him.
“You’ve said that before.”
He flinched.
I said quietly, “Emily.”
She stopped.
Michael deserved accountability.
But Noah’s hospital room wasn’t the place for another war.
Emily kissed Noah’s forehead.
“He looks better.”
“He is.”
She smiled at him.
Then at me.
“You have a room as long as you need one.”
“Thank you.”
“I already borrowed a bassinet.”
I almost cried again.
That night, Michael and I were alone after Emily left.
He sat beside Noah.
“I failed you.”
I looked at him.
He continued before I could answer.
“I kept thinking being a good son meant keeping the peace.”
I said nothing.
“I thought if I stayed neutral, nobody could blame me.”
“But neutrality helped her.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“When you complained, I’d think, Mom’s difficult. Sarah’s tired. It’ll pass.”
“It didn’t.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
He nodded.
“I need to earn that.”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Then he said, “There’s something I never told you.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“When you were pregnant, Mom asked me if I was sure you were emotionally stable enough to raise a baby.”
I stared at him.
“When?”
“Seven months pregnant.”
“And what did you say?”
“I got angry.”
“Did you tell me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to upset you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone keeps protecting me from the truth while Patricia does whatever she wants.”
“I know.”
“What else?”
He looked away.
“What else did she say?”
“She asked what would happen if you had postpartum depression.”
My blood went cold.
“She was planning this before Noah was born.”
“I don’t know.”
“She was collecting my records.”
Michael’s face broke.
“I know.”
“She wanted you to doubt me.”
He covered his mouth.
I suddenly remembered things I had dismissed.
Patricia volunteering to drive me to appointments.
Patricia asking what my doctor said.
Patricia telling Michael I was “too nervous” during pregnancy.
Patricia watching me every time I cried.
Nothing felt random anymore.
At midnight, Detective Alvarez called.
Michael put him on speaker.
“We located your father.”
Michael’s breathing stopped.
“Where?”
“Tucson.”
“So he’s been two hours away?”
“For several years, yes.”
Michael looked shattered.
“Did he agree to talk?”
“He did.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Michael stood.
“I want to be there.”
Alvarez paused.
“That’s your choice, but I want you to understand this may be difficult.”
“I don’t care.”
I touched Michael’s arm.
He looked at me.
“You don’t have to do this immediately.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I spent twenty-three years hating him.”
His voice cracked.
“And I need to know whether I hated the wrong person.”
The next morning, Noah was cleared for discharge.
We strapped him into his car seat.
Michael carried our bags.
I signed the paperwork.
For the first time in twenty-four hours, I felt like I could breathe.
Then we stepped out of the hospital.
A woman stood near the entrance.
Silver hair.
Sunglasses.
Patricia.
My body froze.
Michael stepped in front of Noah’s stroller.
“Mom.”
She removed her sunglasses.
Her eyes were swollen.
“I just want to see my grandson.”
“No.”
“Michael.”
“You cannot be here.”
“He’s my family.”
“So is Sarah.”
Patricia looked at me.
“I made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I whispered.
“I was trying to help.”
“You drugged my child.”
Her jaw tightened.
“I gave him a common medicine.”
“Without permission.”
“He needed sleep.”
“He needed his mother.”
Patricia’s eyes changed.
“You have always made him too dependent on you.”
I stared at her.
“He’s five months old.”
She ignored me and looked at Michael.
“You’re really doing this?”
“Yes.”
“You’re choosing her over me?”
Michael stepped closer to his mother.
“No.”
Patricia looked confused.
“I’m choosing my son over you.”
Her face collapsed.
But Michael wasn’t finished.
“And until the police, doctors, and court say otherwise, you will not come near him.”
Patricia’s expression went blank.
Then she looked at me.
The sadness vanished.
What replaced it frightened me.
“You think you won.”
I tightened my grip on the stroller.
“This isn’t a game.”
“To you, maybe.”
She put her sunglasses back on.
Then she walked away.
Michael watched her go.
His phone rang before she even reached the parking lot.
Detective Alvarez.
Michael answered.
His face changed almost immediately.
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
“They interviewed my father.”
“And?”
May you like
Michael’s voice came out barely above a whisper.
“He says my mother tried to do the same thing to Rebecca.”
