Downstairs, Julian’s cries had softened into weak whimpers. Dr. Harris arrived minutes later, still wearing the clothes he must have thrown on in a hurry. He checked Julian in the ambulance, then came inside with his face grim.
“He has a fever,” he told me. “Mild dehydration. We need to run bloodwork immediately. We also need to test for sedatives or anything else.”
I felt the floor shift.
“Sedatives?”
“I’m not saying that’s what happened. I’m saying we need to test.”
Across the foyer, Penelope heard him.
Her expression did not change.
That terrified me more than panic would have.
They took Sophie and Julian to the hospital. I rode with them.
Penelope was not arrested immediately.
Power has gravity. It bends rooms. It slows consequences.
She gave her statement in the foyer with perfect posture and tearful eyes, telling officers she had spent months trying to save her son from a troubled wife. She mentioned Sophie’s exhaustion, her tears, her supposed paranoia. She used clinical words she had no right to touch.
Depression.
Delusion.
Episodes.
Risk to the baby.
But Gabriel arrived before she finished.
He walked in wearing a charcoal coat and the expression of a man who had never been charmed by anyone in his life.
He handed the older officer a tablet.
