Chapter 7
Friday was tomorrow.
The words stayed in my head all night.
Hospital Friday.
Noah stays with me.
Linda had not been improvising.
She had a schedule.
A plan.
I sat in the hospital bed with Noah against my chest while Detective Harris spoke to me in person.
He placed photographs of the evidence on the rolling table.
Not the originals.
Copies.
I almost wished he hadn’t.
There were pictures of me asleep on the couch.
Asleep in bed.
Asleep with my head tipped back in the nursery chair.
Under each image, handwritten notes.
11:40 p.m. — took medication.
2:15 a.m. — baby woke.
2:20 a.m. — Emily did not respond.
That one made me cry.
“I didn’t respond because she drugged me.”
Detective Harris nodded.
“That’s one of the things we’re investigating.”
Ethan stood beside the window.
He had barely spoken.
The detective turned another page.
Wednesday — increased fatigue.
Thursday — confused about dose.
I stared at it.
“She was testing me.”
“That’s possible.”
“She wanted to know how much she could give me.”
“We can’t make that conclusion yet.”
I understood why he had to say it.
But I knew.
The next page contained a list.
Emily sleeps.
Call transport.
Ethan at work.
Guardianship packet.
Keys.
Bank appointment Monday.
My chest tightened.
“Bank appointment?”
Harris nodded.
“We’re checking it.”
Ethan turned from the window.
“What bank?”
“The same bank where the property documents were apparently going to be submitted as part of a home equity application.”
I felt sick.
“She already applied?”
“Someone started an application.”
“In my name?”
“That’s what we’re determining.”
Ethan sat down.
“She was going to drug Emily, have her taken to a psychiatric facility, keep Noah, and borrow against the house.”
The detective was careful.
“That appears consistent with some of the evidence, but the investigation is ongoing.”
I looked at the final handwritten note.
Noah stays with me.
“Where is Linda now?”
“In custody.”
I looked at Ethan.
He didn’t react.
“What is she charged with?”
“Right now, several charges are being reviewed. Fraud-related offenses. Possible theft. Possible unlawful administration of a substance. There may be more.”
“Is she getting out?”
“She may be eligible for bond depending on what charges are filed.”
Fear immediately filled me.
“She cannot come near Noah.”
“We’re working on an emergency protective order.”
“Working on?”
The detective’s face softened slightly.
“I understand why that sounds inadequate.”
“No, you don’t.”
My voice cracked.
“She lived in my house. She touched my baby. She knew when Ethan worked. She knew when I slept.”
“I understand enough to take it seriously.”
I looked away.
The detective slid another photograph toward me.
“This may matter.”
It showed a small black device.
“What is that?”
“A camera.”
Ethan stood.
“Where?”
“In the nursery.”
I felt my entire body go numb.
“No.”
“It was hidden inside a smoke detector housing.”
I looked at Noah.
My voice disappeared.
The nursery was where I fed him.
Changed clothes.
Cried.
Sometimes sat half dressed because breastfeeding was difficult.
The detective seemed to understand.
“We’ll handle the footage as sensitively as possible.”
“There’s footage?”
“We found a memory card.”
I covered my mouth.
Ethan looked like he might be sick.
“Did she install it?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I thought of Linda’s notes.
Baby woke.
Emily did not respond.
She had known because she was watching.
Not because she heard him cry.
Because she had a camera.
“Was there one in our bedroom?”
The detective hesitated.
That hesitation answered me.
I closed my eyes.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
Ethan swore.
I felt humiliation burn through me.
Then something else.
Rage.
“She watched us.”
“We’re examining devices.”
“She watched me sleep.”
“Yes.”
“She photographed me.”
“Yes.”
“She gave me drugs.”
“That is being investigated.”
“She tried to take my child.”
“We’re investigating that too.”
I stared at him.
Then I said, “I want everything prosecuted.”
Ethan looked at me.
I didn’t care.
“I don’t want anyone asking me later if I’m willing to let this go because she’s family.”
The detective nodded.
“That is your choice.”
“She is not my family.”
Beside me, Ethan lowered his head.
For a second I wondered if I had hurt him.
Then I stopped caring about protecting everyone else from reality.
Linda had used family as a weapon.
I would not.
The next morning, we were discharged.
Before leaving, the hospital gave me clear instructions for medication.
Ethan offered to handle it.
I shook my head.
“I’m handling my own medicine.”
He looked hurt.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
At home, police tape was gone.
But the house felt different.
Contaminated.
Linda’s bedroom door stood open.
Drawers had been pulled out.
The mattress had been moved.
I stopped in the hallway.
“I don’t want her things here.”
“I’ll pack them.”
“No.”
Ethan looked at me.
“I don’t want you doing it either.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you getting pulled into memories and deciding she’s helpless.”
He went pale.
“That won’t happen.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Emily—”
“I need distance from all of this.”
He nodded slowly.
“We can hire someone.”
“Yes.”
I walked into Noah’s nursery.
The smoke detector had been removed.
A hole remained in the ceiling.
I stared at it.
Noah slept in my arms.
Ethan came up behind me but did not touch me.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at the empty hole.
“She saw everything.”
“I know.”
“I sang to him here.”
He swallowed.
“I know.”
“I cried because feeding hurt.”
“I know.”
“I told Noah I was scared I wasn’t good enough.”
Ethan’s voice broke.
“You are.”
I turned toward him.
“Your mother heard me say that.”
He looked down.
“And then she used it.”
Neither of us spoke.
My phone rang.
My sister Rachel.
I answered.
“Hey.”
“Emily?”
She sounded frantic.
“What happened?”
“Mom called me.”
I frowned.
Our mother lived in Florida.
“Why?”
“Linda called her from jail.”
My blood chilled.
“What?”
“She told Mom you had a breakdown and got her arrested.”
I nearly laughed.
Of course she had.
“She’s already rewriting it.”
Rachel continued.
“Mom didn’t believe her. But Linda said Ethan was being manipulated and Noah was in danger.”
Ethan heard.
His jaw tightened.
“How did she call Emily’s mother?” he asked.
Rachel heard him.
“She had the number.”
I closed my eyes.
Linda had everyone’s number.
She knew where Rachel lived.
She knew where my parents lived.
She knew our routines.
Rachel continued.
“She also said there are things about Emily’s family Ethan doesn’t know.”
I frowned.
“What things?”
“She wouldn’t tell Mom.”
Ethan looked at me.
I felt an old uneasiness.
Linda had always asked too many questions about my grandmother’s estate.
My inheritance.
My parents.
Maybe that was all.
“Rachel, don’t talk to her.”
“I won’t.”
“Tell Mom and Dad not to either.”
“Already did.”
She paused.
“Emily, are you safe?”
I looked at Noah.
“Yes.”
Then I looked at Ethan.
“I think so.”
He flinched.
After the call, he said quietly, “You think so?”
“I don’t know what else she set up.”
He nodded.
Fair.
We spent the afternoon changing locks.
Every lock.
Front door.
Back door.
Garage.
Side gate.
Ethan changed the Wi-Fi password.
We unplugged every smart device.
A technician came to inspect the house for additional cameras.
He found one more in the living room.
I almost screamed.
Then, just before five, Detective Harris called.
“We found something else.”
My stomach dropped.
“What now?”
“We interviewed the bank employee connected to the loan application.”
“And?”
“She remembers Linda.”
Of course she did.
“She came in twice.”
“What did she say?”
“That you were recovering from childbirth and wanted Linda to handle paperwork because you were emotionally overwhelmed.”
I felt sick.
“She was building the story everywhere.”
“Yes.”
“Did the employee believe her?”
“Apparently.”
Ethan clenched his fists.
Harris continued.
“But there’s another issue.”
I stared at the wall.
“What?”
“The bank employee says Linda wasn’t alone.”
Ethan looked at the phone.
“Martin?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“A man.”
“What man?”
“We showed her several photographs.”
“And?”
“She identified someone.”
Harris paused.
“Ethan, this next part may be difficult.”
Ethan’s face changed.
“Who was it?”
“Your father.”
Ethan froze.
His father had disappeared from his life twenty-seven years ago.
Or at least that was what Linda had always told him.
He took the phone from my hand.
“My father is dead.”
Detective Harris was silent for a moment.
Then he said, “No, Ethan.”
May you like
Ethan’s face drained completely.
“He’s alive.”
