When Teresa answered, Sarah made her voice small.
“Mom,” she whispered. “Please don’t hang up. I’m scared. I don’t know what to tell the doctors.”
The change in Teresa was immediate.
She softened because Sarah sounded usable again.
“Finally,” Teresa muttered. “Now maybe you understand what happens when children have no boundaries.”
The detective wrote down the time.
5:46 a.m.
The doctor stood by the wall with his arms folded, staring at the floor.
Sarah swallowed so hard it hurt.
“They keep asking about the shed,” she said. “They keep asking why he was outside.”
There was a rustling sound.
Claudia’s voice cut in from the background.
“Don’t answer that.”
The detective looked up.
Sarah kept her eyes on the ICU glass.
“Noah kept crying for me, didn’t he?” she asked, letting tears enter her voice but not control it. “He probably made Claudia mad.”
Teresa exhaled.
“That child cried for you all night,” she said. “Like we were strangers.”
“You were angry,” Sarah whispered.
“He was being dramatic.”
“He is six.”
“He was old enough to understand no,” Teresa snapped, and then softened again when Sarah went quiet. “Claudia only meant to scare him. He kept running his mouth, and she grabbed him. Then he got hysterical.”
Sarah’s hand tightened around the phone.
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