“I won’t.”
But she turned toward me and reached out.
“Mommy.”
I climbed into the hospital bed beside her.
Andrés stepped back.
That was the first honest thing he did.
He stepped back.
Diane was arrested the next morning.
I was not there to see it.
But Rachel told me later.
The police found more evidence in our apartment than I could stomach.
A pill cutter hidden in Diane’s toiletry bag.
Crushed powder residue in a small ceramic bowl.
A children’s applesauce pouch in the trash with traces of the medication.
A notebook.
That notebook became the thing that changed everything.
Diane had written down times.
Doses.
Emma’s behavior.
“Half pill. Slept 3 hours. No tantrum.”
“Quarter pill. Whined at lunch. Needs stronger dose.”
“Good response. Quiet during TV.”
Good response.
As if my child were an experiment.
As if Emma’s silence were success.
As if the absence of laughter proved Diane’s wisdom.
When Detective Laura Kim showed me photographs of the notebook, I threw up in the hospital bathroom.
I had thought Diane was controlling.
Critical.
