Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN MY MOTHER WANTED THEM TO ARREST
Patricia began talking before the officer could ask a single question.
“She has postpartum depression,” my mother declared. “She hasn’t been acting rationally since the baby was born.”
“That is not true,” I said.
Patricia ignored me.
“She refuses to eat. She refuses to care for the child. Yesterday, I found her standing beside the bassinet in the dark.”
Hannah’s breathing quickened.
Dr. Grant stepped between the bed and the doorway.
“Mrs. Parker is under medical care. You need to leave.”
“I’m his grandmother!”
“That does not give you access to this room.”
Patricia pointed at Hannah.
“You need to test her. She has been talking to herself.”
“I was singing to Owen,” Hannah whispered.
My mother gave a short, cruel laugh.
“Is that what you’re calling it now?”
The police officer watched both women carefully.
Then another officer arrived, followed by a hospital social worker named Rebecca Lin.
Rebecca asked me to take Owen into the hallway while Dr. Grant and the police spoke to Hannah privately.
I did not want to leave her.
But Rebecca explained that separating everyone would allow Hannah to answer without pressure.
Patricia was taken to another room.
For forty agonizing minutes, I sat beneath the fluorescent hallway lights with my son sleeping against my chest.
I studied his tiny face.
He trusted me completely.
So had Hannah.
And I had left them with someone I should have protected them from.
When Rebecca finally emerged, her expression was serious.
“Mr. Parker, we need to ask you several questions.”
“Is Hannah all right?”
“She is receiving antibiotics for a significant infection. The physicians believe the delay in treatment increased the danger considerably.”
“How dangerous?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Without intervention, the infection could have entered her bloodstream.”
I looked through the window at Hannah.
She had almost died while my mother sat beside her calling her lazy.
Rebecca continued.
“Your mother claims Hannah was injuring herself.”
“She’s lying.”
“She also claims Hannah dropped the baby two days ago.”
My entire body went cold.
“That never happened.”
“Were you present?”
“No. I was out of town.”
“Then we have to investigate every statement.”
I understood the words.
But I hated them.
A pediatrician examined Owen.
Thankfully, he was dehydrated but unharmed. He had lost a small amount of weight, likely because Hannah had been too sick to feed him properly and Patricia had not followed the formula instructions Hannah provided.
Then the police asked about our home.
Security cameras.
Smart devices.
Neighbors.
Anything that might prove who was telling the truth.
That was when I remembered the nursery camera.
It did not only provide live video through the tablet.
It stored motion recordings online.
I opened the application on my phone.
The account requested a password.
I entered the password Hannah and I always used.
Incorrect.
I tried again.
Still incorrect.
“Did you change this?” I asked Hannah when I returned to her room.
She shook her head.
My mother must have changed it.
That alone made the detective lean forward.
I contacted the camera company and verified my identity. They restored access using my email.
Dozens of recordings appeared.
Most were ordinary.
Owen sleeping.
Hannah feeding him.
Patricia walking through the nursery.
Then I found footage from two nights earlier.
The video began at 1:13 a.m.
Hannah entered the nursery slowly, holding the wall for balance.
She approached the bassinet and reached for Owen.
Patricia followed her into the room.
There was no sound at first, only grainy night vision.
Patricia grabbed Hannah by the wrist.
Hannah tried to pull away.
My mother twisted her arm and forced her backward.
Then the audio activated.
“You are not touching him,” Patricia said.
“He’s hungry.”
“You’ll drop him.”
“Please give me my phone.”
“You don’t need a phone.”
“I need a doctor.”
“You need discipline.”
Hannah tried to move past her.
Patricia shoved her into the side of the dresser.
My wife collapsed to the floor.
The officer beside me swore under his breath.
In the video, Patricia leaned down.
Her voice came through clearly.
“If Ethan sees what a disaster you are, he will take the baby and come home to me.”
I stopped the recording.
My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone.
The detective asked me to play the rest.
I did.
Patricia lifted Owen from the bassinet while Hannah remained on the floor.
Then she looked directly toward the camera.
For one terrible second, it seemed as though she knew we would eventually see her.
She crossed the room.
The recording ended when the camera was ripped from the wall.
The evidence should have ended every lie.
But Detective Ruiz looked troubled.
“There’s something else,” he said.
He placed a printed document on the table.
It was a report filed with child protective services the previous morning.
The anonymous caller claimed Hannah had threatened to smother Owen.
And attached to the report were screenshots of messages sent from Hannah’s phone.
Messages in which she appeared to say she wished the baby had never been born.
Hannah stared at them in horror.
“I never wrote those.”
I believed her.
But Detective Ruiz pointed to the timestamps.
Every message had been sent while I was away.
And the final one had been sent only three hours before I came home.
May you like
Someone had not only abused my wife.
Someone had carefully constructed a story that could destroy her.
