Chapter 3
I showed James the message.
He handed his phone to the officer, who photographed the screen and wrote down the number. She asked whether I recognized it.
I didn't.
Inside the house, voices rose. Lauren's carried through the doorway.
“Ask Claire how many nights she called me because she couldn't cope!”
I closed the car door so Emma wouldn't hear her.
The officer noticed.
“We'll speak to everyone separately,” she said. “Afterward, take your daughter to the clinic. Keep the visit record.”
At the clinic, a doctor examined Emma while James held her hand. The mark on her cheek had begun to fade. The doctor found no other injury. She recorded what we had reported and told us what changes would need immediate attention.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, I kept thinking about the message.
Who was coming tomorrow?
It was nearly midnight when we reached home. James carried the sleeping Emma inside. I followed with the diaper bag and checked every lock before I took off my coat.
James had already called the number that sent the message. No one answered.
He called the officer with an update, then sat beside me at the kitchen table.
“Dad said there was a doctor's letter,” I said.
“I know.”
“What if Lauren has been telling people I'm sick?”
“We'll find out.”
Emma made a small sound from the bedroom. We both turned. James went to her, and I heard him speaking softly through the monitor.
For months, that room had been mine to watch over alone. Hearing his voice there almost broke me.
I opened my messages with Lauren.
There were dozens of offers to help.
I can take Emma for the afternoon.
Mom thinks you need a real break.
You can't do everything yourself.
The messages sounded kind until I reached one from three weeks earlier.
If things get too hard, you know I'd take her without hesitation.
I had replied with a heart.
My stomach turned.
At eight the next morning, Dad called.
He had spoken to the officers until after midnight. Lauren denied forging anything. Mom said she couldn't remember when she first saw the form.
“Frank told them what he heard,” Dad said. “Lauren asked your mother to find a spare key to your house.”
I stood up.
“Did Mom give it to her?”
“Mom says no.”
That wasn't an answer I could trust.
James heard my side of the call. He brought me the keys and said he'd arrange to have the locks changed that morning.
Dad cleared his throat.
“Claire, there is a woman named Denise Harper.”
“Who is she?”
“She runs a private family support service. Lauren had her number in the folder. There was an appointment written down for ten tomorrow morning.”
“Today,” I said.
Dad fell silent.
I looked at the clock. It was eight seventeen.
I called Denise Harper. A receptionist answered and put me through when I gave my name.
“Mrs. Walker,” Denise said warmly. “I'm glad we connected before the visit.”
“What visit?”
A pause.
“Lauren explained that your family was discussing a short stay for Emma at her home.”
“We are not.”
“I see.”
“She has no permission to take my daughter. Any paper she gave you with my signature is false.”
Denise's voice changed at once.
“I haven't received a signed document. I was scheduled to meet with all of you before recommending any arrangements.”
“Lauren told you I'd be there?”
“Yes.”
I gripped the edge of the counter.
“She didn't tell us about the meeting.”
Denise apologized and offered to send her notes to the officer if asked. She said Lauren had described me as overwhelmed and unable to manage Emma's care since James returned.
I thanked her, then called the officer.
By the time I finished, James had Emma on his shoulder.
“Who is coming?” he asked.
“Someone Lauren hired to make her story look official.”
My phone rang again.
It was Mom.
I let it ring once before answering.
“Where is Emma?” she asked.
“With us.”
“Lauren says you've involved the police.”
“Because she forged my signature.”
“You need to come here and talk to your sister before this goes any further.”
I looked at James. He stayed close enough to hear.
“Did you give Lauren a key to our house?”
“No.”
“Did she ask for one?”
Mom didn't answer.
“Mom.”
“She thought you might need help while James was gone.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“I made a copy in September,” Mom said. “I didn't know what she was planning.”
I closed my eyes.
“Does she still have it?”
“I don't know.”
James quietly reached for his phone and called the locksmith.
“Claire,” Mom said, “I never wanted Emma taken from you.”
“Then why did you keep this from me?”
“Lauren told me she was worried about you.”
“You were supposed to ask me.”
“I know.”
It was the first honest thing she'd said since dinner.
When I ended the call, I found a voicemail from a number I didn't recognize. A woman introduced herself as the director of Bright Steps Daycare.
May you like
She said Lauren had come by that morning to confirm a place for Emma.
And she needed to speak to me urgently.
