“You knew she put something in my drink?”
Diane covered her mouth.
“I didn’t know what it was.”
“But you knew.”
No one moved.
Diane reached toward me. “Emma, please, I never would have allowed—”
“Allowed?” I whispered.
That word opened something in me.
All the dinners where Brenda insulted me and Diane smiled tightly.
All the phone calls where she told me Brenda had a hard time adjusting.
All the moments she asked me to be patient because family was complicated.
“You all allowed it,” I said.
Jacob looked at me, devastated.
I did not look away.
“You taught her she could do this.”
Brenda laughed once, sharp and broken.
“Oh, please. Don’t make this into some grand tragedy. Nothing happened. She’s alive. The baby’s alive.”
Dr. Mason’s expression turned icy.
“Ms. Hale, you need to leave now.”
The social worker stepped into the hallway and spoke to someone unseen.
A minute later, two security officers appeared.
Brenda looked at them, then at Jacob.
“You’re letting them throw me out?”
Jacob’s voice was hollow.
“I’m letting them call the police.”
Her face changed completely.
The arrogance vanished.
“Jacob.”
He said nothing.
“Jacob, I’m your sister.”
He looked at her as if she had become a stranger wearing familiar skin.
“Emma is my wife.”
Brenda’s gaze flicked to me.
For a moment, there was pure hatred in it.
Then security escorted her out.
Diane tried to follow, but Robert grabbed her arm.
“No,” he said.
His voice was quiet, but I had never heard such finality from him.
Diane stared at him.
Robert looked at me.
“I am sorry,” he said.
It was not enough.
Nothing would ever be enough.
But unlike the others, he did not ask me to forgive him.
The police arrived within the hour.
They took statements from Jacob, from his parents, from the doctor, from the paramedics, and eventually from me. I told them everything I remembered. The cider. The lock. Brenda’s words. The curtain closing.
When I described that part, Jacob stood in the corner with both hands clasped behind his neck, staring at the floor.
Diane cried silently.
Robert did not comfort her.
Later that night, after everyone was forced to leave, Jacob sat beside my hospital bed. The room was dim except for the glow of the monitor. Every few seconds, the baby’s heartbeat filled the silence, fast and steady.
Jacob took my hand.
This time, I let him.
“I failed you,” he said.
I was too tired to argue with the truth.
“Yes,” I whispered.
He closed his eyes.
“I kept thinking I was keeping peace.”
“You were keeping Brenda comfortable.”
He nodded, tears slipping down his cheeks.
“I know.”
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“There’s something else.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Lily recorded part of it.”
I stared at him.
“She had her tablet,” Jacob said. “She was playing some game in the hallway. When she saw you outside, she started recording because she thought adults would believe her if she had proof.”
He unlocked his phone with shaking hands.
“I watched it once,” he said. “I don’t think you should watch it right now.”
“I need to know.”
He hesitated, then pressed play.
The video was shaky, filmed from behind the kitchen island. At first, I saw only Brenda standing near the balcony door, her wineglass in one hand. My own voice came faintly through the glass.
