Chapter 4 - THREE WEEKS BEFOREThree weeks earlier, I had worked late.
Not unusual.
I managed operations for a medical-device distributor.
January was inventory season.
Michael picked Emma up from Linda’s house at 8:15 p.m.
He never told me what happened.
Now, in a hospital hallway, he described it.
“When I got there, Emma was asleep on the couch.”
“She sleeps sometimes.”
“Not like that.”
“What does that mean?”
“She was hard to wake.”
“How hard?”
He closed his eyes.
“I shook her shoulder.”
My stomach turned.
“Then?”
“She opened her eyes.”
“Immediately?”
“No.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. Seconds.”
“Did you call 911?”
“No.”
“Pediatrician?”
“No.”
“Poison control?”
“No.”
“Hannah—”
“What did Linda say?”
“That Emma had been anxious.”
“About what?”
“School.”
“And?”
“She made her something to help her settle.”
“What?”
“She said lemon balm.”
I stared.
“Did you see it?”
“A small brown bottle.”
My skin prickled.
“Like a tincture?”
“I guess.”
“Label?”
“I didn’t read it.”
“Why not?”
“She’s my mother.”
I laughed.
A terrible sound.
“That isn’t an answer.”
“She’s been using herbal sleep stuff forever.”
“For herself.”
“Yes.”
“Not our child.”
“I know.”
“Apparently you didn’t.”
He flinched.
Good.
Then I hated myself for wanting him hurt.
“What happened after Emma woke?”
“I took her home.”
“Did she act normal?”
“Groggy.”
“Did she vomit?”
“No.”
“Did she complain?”
“She said the lemonade tasted nasty.”
Same word.
Bitter.
I stepped away from him.
“You knew.”
“I knew Mom gave her something.”
“You knew Emma had an abnormal reaction.”
“Yes.”
“You said nothing to me.”
“I told Mom never again.”
“That is not telling me.”
“She promised.”
“That is not telling me.”
“I thought it was over.”
I looked through the small glass panel in Emma’s hospital door.
My daughter slept beneath a white blanket because three weeks earlier my husband had discovered a warning and decided a private conversation with his mother was enough.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Michael whispered:
“Because you already didn’t trust her.”
I turned.
“What?”
“You’ve been looking for a reason to stop having Mom watch the kids.”
I stared at him.
“That is why you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t want another fight.”
There are sentences that redefine a marriage more efficiently than infidelity.
May you like
I didn’t want another fight.
So he kept quiet about our daughter being drugged.
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