“She obviously wasn’t breastfeeding him properly because she was too lazy to try.”
I felt my knuckles turn white as I clenched my fists, wanting to scream.
Dr. Miller stepped forward, his voice calm but sharp.
“The baby has a severe, untreated case of diaper rash that has developed into a fungal infection, and there are clearly visible marks on his arms and legs consistent with being tied down.”
Karen let out a sharp, dismissive laugh.
“He is a newborn, his skin is sensitive and marks up for no reason, you’re reading way too much into this.”
“And what about the bruises on the mother’s wrists?” the officer asked, stepping closer to them.
Karen stopped chewing her gum, finally looking slightly uncomfortable.
My mother clutched her chest, her eyes wide.
“With the high fever she was having, she was tossing and turning in the bed, maybe she grabbed onto the bed frame, she’s always been accident prone.”
She lied with such a chilling, practiced calm that it made me want to retch right there on the floor.
This was the woman I had spent my entire life respecting, the woman I had defended every time Amy told me she felt belittled, and here she was, throwing my wife to the wolves to cover her own tracks.
The officer turned to me and asked for my account of what I saw when I walked into the apartment.
I told her everything, the open door, the freezing temperature, the trash, the suffocating atmosphere, and the sound of my son crying for his life.
My mother started sobbing louder, wailing like an actress on a stage.
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