0 views
“What do you mean?”
“Kate took it.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Because of the bracelet.”
I pointed at the reflection.
“She always wears that bracelet.”
The investigator looked again.
Then her phone rang.
This time, she didn’t answer immediately.
The number displayed on the screen was my sister’s.
She looked at me.
Then she answered on speaker.
“Kate?”
There was silence.
Then my sister’s voice came through.
Soft.
Shaking.
“Is Ally there?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Put her on.”
The investigator looked at me.
I took the phone.
“Kate?”
My sister inhaled sharply.
“Ally, listen to me.”
“What happened to Paige?”
“I never meant for this to happen.”
My blood turned cold.
“What does that mean?”
“I was trying to protect her.”
“From what?”
She began crying.
Then she whispered five words that changed everything.
“Her father isn’t who you think.”
The line went dead.
Part 3 — What Kate Had Been Hiding
I stared at the phone.
“Kate?”
Nothing.
“Kate!”
The call had ended.
The investigator took the phone from my hand.
“Do you know who Paige’s father is?”
“Yes.”
At least, I thought I did.
“His name is Daniel.”
“Does Daniel live with Kate?”
“Yes.”
“Was he home this morning?”
“I don’t know.”
The investigator immediately made another call.
I sank into the chair.
Everything I had believed about that morning was beginning to fracture.
Kate had arrived exhausted.
She had said Paige was teething.
She had told me I was the one person she trusted to make the call if the baby got too fussy.
Why say that?
Why photograph Paige’s injured leg?
Why cover the bruise?
And why tell the investigator that I had caused it?
The trauma-room doors opened.
A pediatric specialist walked toward us.
“Are you Paige’s aunt?”
“Yes.”
“I need to update you.”
I stood.
“She is stable. The fracture has been immobilized, and we’re monitoring her pain.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Can I see her?”
“In a moment.”
I swallowed.
“Doctor, you said there was an older injury?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
“We can’t give you an exact date, but the imaging suggests it predates today’s injury by some time.”
My hands began trembling.
“Could it have happened accidentally?”
“It depends on the mechanism and the circumstances. Babies can sustain fractures accidentally, but we have to consider the entire clinical picture.”
“And the makeup?”
The doctor became quiet.
“That is concerning because it appears to have been deliberately applied over the bruised area.”
I nodded.
“That’s what I thought.”
The doctor glanced toward the investigator.
“We’ve also documented additional bruising in different stages of healing.”
My chest tightened.
“How much?”
The doctor didn’t answer directly.
“Enough that the hospital has activated the appropriate child-protection protocol.”
I covered my mouth.
Paige wasn’t simply injured that morning.
Something had been happening for longer.
The investigator returned a few minutes later.
“Daniel wasn’t at the house.”
“Where is he?”
“He says he is at work.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
The investigator’s expression was unreadable.
“He says Kate has been behaving strangely for several weeks.”
I looked at her.
“Strangely how?”
“He claims she became increasingly frightened that someone was watching the baby.”
I remembered Kate’s exhausted face.
Her trembling hands.
The way she had looked at Paige before leaving.
“What did he mean by watching her?”
“He wasn’t specific.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice whispered, “Are you Ally?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t trust your sister.”
My entire body stiffened.
“Who is this?”
“Ask her about the basement.”
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
The investigator took one step toward me.
“What did he say?”
I told her.
She immediately began making another call.
I could barely breathe.
The basement.
Kate’s house had a basement.
But why would someone mention it?
An hour later, the investigator and I were standing outside my sister’s home.
Police had secured the property.
The front door was open.
Inside, everything looked normal.
Too normal.
There were toys scattered across the living room.
A bottle sat unfinished on the kitchen counter.
A tiny pink sock lay beneath the sofa.
I picked it up.
It belonged to Paige.
The investigator noticed something on the floor.
A trail.
Small beige powder marks.
We followed them toward the basement.
The door was locked.
An officer forced it open.
The smell hit me immediately.
Baby powder.
Strong enough to make my eyes water.
There were boxes along the walls.
Old baby clothes.
Medical supplies.
Several bottles of concealer.
I froze.
“What is this?”
The investigator opened one box.
Inside were photographs.
Dozens of them.
Paige.
Sleeping.
Changing.
Crying.
Being held.
My stomach turned.
“These were taken over months.”
The investigator carefully examined them.
Then she found something beneath the photographs.
A notebook.
She opened it.
Every page contained dates.
Times.
Descriptions.
2:15 a.m. — crying.
4:30 a.m. — bruise on left arm.
Tuesday — refused bottle.
Thursday — Daniel angry again.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Daniel?”
The investigator turned another page.
There were more entries.
He said nobody would believe me.
He said I was imagining things.
He said Paige was difficult because she was mine.
Then another line.
He hurt her again.
