Chapter 3 - The Face My Mother Chose to Believe
By early afternoon, my mother had called eleven times.
I finally answered because I was afraid something else had happened to Paige.
"What have you done to this family?" she asked.
There was no hello and no question about the baby.
I stepped into an empty corridor.
"Mom, Paige has a fracture."
"Kate told me."
"Then you know why I took her in."
"Kate says you're twisting everything."
My mother, Evelyn, had defended Kate since we were children.
When Kate broke a vase, I was blamed for leaving it near the edge.
When Kate lost money, I was accused of tempting her by having some.
I had learned to apologize for things I had not done just to restore peace.
But there was no peace to restore now.
"You need to stop calling me the problem," I said.
My mother went silent.
"You sound unstable, Ally."
I hung up before she could turn that word into another accusation.
At four, a detective named Daniel Brooks arrived to conduct a separate interview.
He told me he was investigating the circumstances, not announcing a conclusion.
That distinction mattered more than he knew.
He asked about my background, my apartment, my work as a bookkeeper, and whether anyone had witnessed the drop-off.
I remembered my neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez, watering plants outside her door.
She had waved when Kate arrived.
I gave him her number.
Then I remembered something else.
Kate had carried the diaper bag in her right hand and Paige in her left arm.
Paige's left leg had rested against Kate's hip the entire time.
I described it carefully.
Brooks made a note.
"Are there cameras in your building?"
"The lobby has one."
"We'll request the footage."
He did not promise it would settle anything.
I appreciated that.
At six, I was finally allowed a brief visit to Paige's room with a nurse present.
Her tiny leg was immobilized, and she was sleeping after treatment.
A monitor measured her heartbeat.
I stood beside the crib without touching her.
"I came as fast as I could," I whispered.
The nurse put a hand on my shoulder.
"She's being cared for."
Outside the room, I passed Kate.
She wore the same cream sweater she'd worn that morning.
Her eyes were red, but they dried the instant she saw me.
"If you loved her," she whispered, "you would take the blame."
I stopped walking.
Kate stepped close enough that I could smell her perfume.
"You don't have anyone depending on you," she said.
"I do."
For the first time that day, I understood that her accusation was not panic.
May you like
It was a plan.
