Deep down, I think I already knew it, ever since I saw my mother sleeping soundly while my wife was left to rot.
But hearing it confirmed by a professional made the reality hit me with the force of a freight train.
I pulled out my phone and dialed the police with fingers that wouldn’t stop shaking.
By the time the officers arrived, my mother and Karen had showed up at the hospital, with Susan having carefully reapplied her makeup and forced tears into her eyes to play the role of the grieving grandmother.
“My poor, sweet daughter-in-law,” she wailed, clutching a tissue to her chest. “My poor little grandson, who we have been watching over day and night.”
Karen stood next to her, calmly chewing a piece of gum as if she were waiting for a bus rather than waiting to be questioned about child endangerment.
For the first time in my life, I truly saw them for who they were, total strangers hiding behind the familiar faces of my own family.
An officer named Dave Jenkins pulled us into a small, windowless interrogation room, and Dr. Miller came in with the medical charts.
My mother started in immediately, her voice trembling with manufactured distress.
“My son is just completely distraught and confused, and honestly, Amy has always been extremely delicate and dramatic, and girls these days just cannot handle the reality of motherhood.”
Officer Jenkins stared at her with a look of intense skepticism.
“Then you explain to me why the infant hadn’t produced any wet diapers for nearly ten hours,” the officer demanded.
My mother blinked, her performance faltering for just a split second.
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