“You knew,” I said.
Kate frowned.
“Knew what?”
“You knew something was wrong before you left.”
Her eyes hardened.
“You’re making things up because you’re scared.”
“No.”
I pulled out my phone again.
“I’m scared because your daughter has a broken leg. I’m angry because you’re trying to make me responsible for it.”
The investigator held out her hand.
“Give me the phone.”
I handed it over.
She opened the message thread.
Paige is hurt. I’m at the hospital. Get here now.
Read.
Then my second message.
The doctors found a serious injury. You need to come immediately.
Read.
The investigator looked at Kate.
“You received these while your daughter was being evaluated?”
“Yes.”
“And you did not respond?”
“I panicked.”
“For how long?”
Kate said nothing.
The investigator checked the timestamps.
“Long enough to receive two messages, read both, and still not call your sister or the hospital.”
Kate’s voice became defensive.
“I was trying to think.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know.”
The doctor quietly interrupted.
“Ms. Kate, your daughter needs you to cooperate with us.”
Kate looked toward the trauma room.
For the first time, tears appeared in her eyes.
But she still didn’t move toward the door.
The investigator noticed that too.
“Who else knew Paige was injured?” she asked.
Kate shook her head.
“No one.”
“Think carefully.”
“I said no one.”
The investigator closed the folder.
“We will be speaking to your husband.”
Kate’s face changed instantly.
That reaction was different.
It wasn’t fear for Paige.
It was fear of what someone else might say.
I noticed it before the investigator did.
“Where is your husband?” I asked.
Kate looked at me.
“He’s shopping.”
“You came here alone?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he come with you?”
“He had something to finish.”
The investigator studied her.
“What was his name again?”
Kate answered.
The investigator wrote it down.
Then her phone rang.
She stepped away to answer it.
I stood beside Kate in silence.
Neither of us looked at the other.
A minute later, the investigator returned.
“We need your husband’s location.”
Kate’s face went blank.
“I told you. He’s shopping.”
“The hospital has received information that he has not been at the store you mentioned.”
Kate stared at her.
“What?”
The investigator held up a hand.
“We are not discussing details in this hallway.”
Then she turned to me.
“Ms. Ally, I need you to think about everything you saw before you left your house.”
I nodded.
“I already told you everything.”
“No. You told us what you discovered. I want to know what happened before the discovery.”
I closed my eyes.
Paige crying.
The bottle.
The rocking.
The moment I shifted her weight.
The scream.
And Kate’s strange sentence.
You’re the one person I trust to make the call if she gets too fussy.
I opened my eyes.
“There was something else.”
The investigator waited.
“When Kate handed Paige to me, she said something about making the call.”
“I remember.”
“No. I mean I remember something about how she said it.”
The investigator leaned closer.
“She wasn’t telling me to call her if Paige cried.”
“What was she doing?”
I looked toward the trauma-room doors.
“She was giving me permission to call for help.”
The investigator’s expression sharpened.
“Why would she need to give you permission?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you think it matters?”
“Yes.”
Before she could answer, a nurse hurried toward us.
“Doctor?” she called.
The attending physician stepped out of the trauma room.
Her face had changed.
She looked directly at the investigator.
“We found something else.”
Kate stood completely still.
The doctor lowered her voice, but I heard every word.
“There are older signs of injury.”
My stomach dropped.
The investigator looked at Kate.
Kate looked at me.
And this time, she didn’t accuse me.
She didn’t defend herself.
She simply whispered, “Please.”
I didn’t know whether she was asking me to forgive her, protect her, or stay silent.
Then the investigator asked the question that changed everything.
“Ms. Kate, how many times has Paige been injured before today?”
Kate’s eyes filled with tears.
She opened her mouth.
But before she could answer, her phone buzzed again.
She looked at the screen.
The color drained from her face.
The investigator reached for it.
Kate pulled it away.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
The investigator stopped.
“Who is calling?”
Kate stared at the screen for several seconds.
Then she looked at me.
“It’s my husband.”
I expected her to answer.
Instead, she turned the phone facedown.
And that was when I realized the person Kate was most afraid of was not the investigator.
It wasn’t me.
It wasn’t even the hospital.
It was the man who had just called her—and whatever he was about to say.
