Chapter 2 - Thursday Wasn't What She Said
Mara photographed the message on my screen and asked what had happened Thursday.
The truth was so ordinary that I almost laughed.
Kate had stopped by my apartment after a pediatric appointment, and I had held Paige while she carried groceries upstairs.
Paige had fussed because she was tired.
I had put her in her stroller, and she had fallen asleep in less than ten minutes.
"That's it?" Mara asked.
"That's it."
"Did she fall?"
"No."
"Did you see any injury?"
"Her legs were covered."
My answer sounded awful even though it was true.
Mara asked me to write the full timeline, including exactly when I had seen Paige that week.
She reminded me not to delete messages or call Kate to argue about the allegation.
I agreed, though every instinct I had wanted to confront my sister.
When the door opened again, it was not Kate.
It was her husband, Ryan.
He filled the doorway in a navy jacket and looked at me with a hostility I had never seen on his face.
"What did you do?" he demanded.
Mara stood.
"Mr. Mercer, I need you to wait outside."
Ryan ignored her.
"Kate says Paige was fine until Ally took her."
"Paige has a broken leg," I said.
His expression flickered for less than a second.
It was not shock.
It was recognition.
"You should have called us first," he said.
"I did."
"You sent a text like a crazy person."
"Your daughter needed a hospital."
Mara guided Ryan into the corridor and shut the door.
I heard voices rise and fall beyond it.
I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.
Ten minutes later, a hospital social worker named Denise Hale joined us.
She explained that Paige would remain under medical observation and that an orthopedic team was assessing the fracture.
Kate and Ryan would be interviewed separately.
I would not be allowed to take Paige home, and neither would they until the safety assessment was complete.
"Can I see her?" I asked.
Denise hesitated.
"I'll ask her care team."
The wait felt endless.
When she finally returned, she carried a clear plastic property pouch.
Inside was Paige's green sleeper.
A pale smear marked the fabric near the left hip.
"Did you put anything on this clothing?" Denise asked.
"No."
"Did you wash it?"
"No."
Denise nodded and wrote something down.
Then she asked a question that made me look up sharply.
"Have you ever seen your sister use makeup on Paige before?"
I started to say no.
But a memory surfaced from two weeks earlier.
Kate had laughed about a stain on a burp cloth and said she'd had to borrow my concealer to hide something before going out.
I had assumed she meant a blemish on her own face.
May you like
Now I wasn't sure.
