Chapter 5 - THE AMBUSH
By 2:00 P.M., I was back in the hospital room.
Molly was off oxygen, her skin returning to its soft, milky pink, drinking an ounce of special amino-acid formula from a hospital-grade syringe. Sadie was asleep in the crook of my arm.
The door opened, and Derek walked in, carrying a bouquet of cheap grocery-store carnations and a cardboard cup of takeout coffee. He wore an expression of practiced, weary concern.
"Hey," he said softly, walking toward the bed. "How is our little fighter?"
I didn't look up from Molly’s face. "The swelling in her throat has gone down. Dr. Shah says she will recover without permanent airway damage."
Derek let out a heavy sigh, sitting on the edge of my bed. "Thank God. Megan, look... about earlier. I know emotions were running high. My mom feels terrible. She’s at home right now, crying her eyes out in the guest room. She really thought she was doing the right thing."
"Did she?" I asked evenly.
"Yes! She's from a different generation, Megan. You know how stubborn she is. But we're a family. We have to stick together through this. The social worker from CPS called my cell an hour ago. They want to interview us tomorrow."
"What did you tell them?"
Derek took a sip of his coffee, avoiding my eyes. "I told them it was a tragic misunderstanding. But... Megan, the social worker asked about your mental state. She noticed that you've been having crying spells."
I turned my head slowly to look at him. "And what did you say to that, Derek?"
Derek reached out, trying to take my hand. His fingers felt cold, damp, disgusting. "I had to be honest. I told her you've been under extreme stress since the C-section. That you’ve been obsessive about the pumping schedule, and that sometimes you forget what you're doing. I told her we might need to look into a temporary respite program for you while Mom and I take care of the girls."
"A respite program," I repeated, tasting the words. "You mean a psychiatric hold."
"It's just for a couple of weeks, Meg! Just until you get balanced!" Derek’s voice took on an urgent, desperate pitch. "Mom can watch the babies. I can manage the household. You can rest. No pressure, no middle-of-the-night feedings—"
"And what happens to the house while I'm resting, Derek?"
Derek froze. "What?"
"What happens to this house? The house my father helped us buy? Are you going to take out a second mortgage to pay off Donna’s foreclosure on Heritage Oak Properties?"
The color drained from Derek’s face so fast he looked like a corpse. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. "How... how do you..."
"Did you really think I wouldn't check the bank accounts after you stole forty-five thousand dollars from our daughters' future?"
"Megan, listen to me—"
"No, Derek. You listen to me." I reached into my bag and pulled out my iPad. I tapped the screen.
The audio from the living room nanny cam filled the quiet hospital room:
*"We tell the doctor she’s hallucinating, that she’s neglecting the girls... We can pull equity out of this house once you have full title..."*
*"Mom, don't hurt the kid—"*
*"She’s not going to get hurt, Derek! A little eczema and spit-up never killed anyone..."*
Derek stared at the screen as if a venomous snake had just crawled out of it. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. "Megan... Megan, wait. That... that wasn't what it sounded like. My mom was pressuring me! She manipulated me! You know how she is!"
"You stood on our kitchen stairs and watched your daughter suffocate," I said, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "You watched her choke on her own vomit, and you protected the woman who poisoned her."
"I was trying to save our finances!" Derek yelled, lunging forward, his hands grasping for the iPad. "Give me that!"
The door to the hospital room swung wide open.
Two uniformed officers from the city police department stepped inside, followed immediately by Detective Marcus Vance—no relation to Derek—from the Family Crimes Division.
"Derek Vance?" Detective Vance asked, his badge gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
Derek whirled around, knocking his cheap coffee cup off the tray. It splattered across the white tile floor. "What is this? What is going on?"
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"Step away from your wife and the children, sir," the officer commanded, his hand resting on his utility belt. "You and Donna Vance are being placed under arrest for felony child endangerment and conspiracy to commit aggravated battery of a dependent minor."
***
