The older officer turned to Penelope.
“Ma’am, we need you to step away from the changing table.”
Penelope’s public face returned at full strength.
“Officer, I’m Penelope Sterlington. There has been a misunderstanding. My daughter-in-law is suffering from postpartum instability, and my son is understandably distressed.”
The officer did not soften.
“Step away, please.”
“I said there has been a misunderstanding.”
“And I said step away.”
My mother stared at him as if he were a waiter who had spilled wine on her dress.
Then she stepped aside.
The younger officer found the pill bottle under a folded stack of muslin cloths less than ten seconds later.
Unlabeled.
Half-full.
He bagged it.
Penelope’s lips pressed together.
Sophie watched from the stretcher, shaking.
“Those aren’t mine,” she said.
The paramedic looked down at her. “We believe you.”
Three words.
Simple words.
But Sophie closed her eyes as if they hurt.
As if being believed was almost unbearable after so long without it.
