Chapter 4
The daycare director, Ms. Patel, sounded upset when I called back.
“Lauren told us you were dropping Emma off next week,” she said. “She listed herself as the primary contact.”
“Emma isn't starting daycare.”
“That's what I suspected after I called the number marked ‘mother’ on the intake sheet. It went to Lauren's phone.”
I sat down.
Lauren had put her own number beside my name.
“How did you get my real number?”
“From the pediatrician listed on a separate form. Their office wouldn't share information, but they offered to contact you. Before they could, I found your number on an earlier inquiry you made in the spring.”
I remembered touring Bright Steps while I was pregnant. I had liked Ms. Patel. I had decided to wait until after James came home before making any childcare plans.
“Please don't let Lauren collect Emma,” I said.
“She will not,” Ms. Patel replied. “I have set the file aside and informed my staff. I'll keep the forms for the officer.”
After the call, I sat at the kitchen table with the phone in both hands.
James was changing the locks. Emma lay on a blanket nearby, kicking at a soft fabric star as though the world had not shifted beneath us.
I wanted to keep it that way for her.
I called the pediatrician's office. They confirmed that Lauren had asked to be added as a caregiver the previous week. A staff member had refused because I hadn't authorized it.
I thanked them and asked them to note that only James and I could make decisions for Emma.
Then I called the officer again.
She listened, took the daycare's details, and said an investigator would review the documents. She reminded me to keep any new messages.
“I need to know if she's going to show up here,” I said.
“If she does, don't open the door. Call us.”
It was clear advice. It didn't make the waiting easier.
Dad arrived that afternoon. I had almost told him not to come. Then I saw him standing on our step without a coat, clutching the folder from Lauren's room.
James let him inside.
Dad didn't ask to hold Emma.
“I brought copies,” he said. “The police kept what they needed.”
He laid several pages on the table. One was the forged permission form. Another was the daycare application. The last was a letter on plain paper, addressed to Denise Harper.
It described me as unstable, forgetful, and unable to feed Emma on a regular schedule.
I recognized Lauren's phrasing. I had heard it after every difficult night.
Claire forgets things when she's tired.
Claire needs someone to take over.
In the letter, Lauren claimed Mom and Dad supported a temporary move to her apartment.
“Do you support it?” I asked Dad.
“No.”
“Did you know she was saying that?”
He stared at the table.
“I heard part of it. She said she was worried about Emma and that you needed rest.”
“You believed her.”
“I believed you were tired. I should have asked what you needed.”
I thought of Christmas dinner. He had watched Lauren hit Emma, then waited until we were leaving to speak.
“Why didn't you tell me last week?”
“I was ashamed I'd let it get this far,” he said. “Then I made it worse by waiting.”
Emma began to fuss. James picked her up and walked toward the window.
I looked at Dad.
“Mom says she made Lauren a key.”
His face tightened.
“I didn't know.”
“I need you to understand why I can't bring Emma to your house.”
“I do.”
He sounded hurt. He had earned that hurt.
Dad gathered the papers but left them within my reach.
“I'll give a statement about the letter,” he said. “Frank will come with me.”
After he left, I called Denise Harper again. She confirmed that Lauren had canceled the meeting that morning, saying I had changed my mind. Denise had already preserved her appointment notes.
By evening, the locksmith had finished. I tested the new front lock twice.
That night, James sat beside Emma's crib while I washed bottles. When I came in, he was looking at a photograph from the day she was born.
“I missed so much,” he said.
“You're here now.”
“I know. I just hate that you had to deal with Lauren while I was away.”
“I didn't know I was dealing with anything.”
He turned the photograph face down.
“We know now.”
A knock came at the front door.
James checked the camera beside the entry. His shoulders stiffened.
“It's your mother.”
I stayed where I was.
Mom knocked again.
“Claire,” she called. “I came alone.”
I went to the door but didn't open it.
“What do you want?”
“I have something you need to hear,” she said.
May you like
Her voice sounded strained.
“It was my idea to make the key. But Lauren wasn't the first person who said you should give Emma up.”
