Chapter 6
I called Mom.
“Did you promise Lauren she could have Emma?”
“No,” she said at once. Then her voice faltered. “I told her I trusted her to help you.”
“She's using your words to claim Emma.”
“I'll call her.”
“Please don't. Give the investigator the messages you sent her.”
Mom went quiet.
“There are a lot.”
“Give them all.”
An hour later, Dad called to say Mom was at the station. I didn't ask what she had written. I couldn't spend another night guessing which private moments she had passed to Lauren.
I sat on the floor beside Emma instead.
She was working hard to grab a cloth rabbit. Every time it slipped away, she stretched farther. James watched from the couch.
“She gets that from you,” he said.
“She gets the stubborn part from you.”
He smiled. It faded when my phone rang.
The investigator was calling.
Lauren had given an interview. She admitted filling out the daycare form but claimed I had asked her to. She said she believed the signature on the permission form was mine.
“Does she have anything to support that?” I asked.
“She's provided messages,” the investigator said. “We're reviewing them along with the original form.”
“What happens now?”
“We'll keep you informed. If she contacts you again, save it.”
I told her about Lauren's latest messages. She asked me to forward screenshots and keep the originals.
The next day, we met a family lawyer named Ms. Rivera. She listened without interrupting while I described Christmas dinner and the months leading to it.
She made no promises about what the investigation would prove. She helped us prepare a written account, gather records, and request an order that would keep Lauren away from Emma while the case was reviewed.
“Your father and mother should each give their own account,” she said. “Let them describe what they did in their own words.”
I was relieved. I was tired of trying to make their actions fit together.
When we got home, Dad was waiting in his car across the street. He got out when he saw us.
“I've brought something,” he said.
He held up his phone.
“Lauren called me.”
I felt James move closer.
“She said she was sorry about the slap,” Dad continued. “Then she asked me to tell the investigator I had seen you sign the form.”
“Will you?” I asked.
“No.”
He played the voicemail. Lauren's voice came through the speaker, tight and hurried.
“Dad, you know Claire was overwhelmed. Just say you were in the room when she signed. I can handle the rest.”
I listened twice.
Dad forwarded it to the investigator in front of us.
Then he looked at me.
“I can't undo how long I stayed quiet,” he said. “I can tell the truth now.”
I wanted to hug him. I couldn't yet.
“Thank you for telling us.”
He nodded and drove away.
That afternoon, Emma woke from her nap crying. I went to her room and found Lauren's old blue cardigan folded on the chair. She had left it months ago, and I had forgotten it was there.
I took it downstairs and put it in a bag.
I couldn't bear to see another reminder of how easily she had entered our home.
James found me sitting beside the bag.
“She was my sister,” I said.
“I know.”
“She knew I was scared when you left. She made me think letting her help was the only way to get through it.”
“You got through it,” he said. “She used what you told her.”
I rested my head against his shoulder.
“She'll say I made that up.”
“Then let her say it. We'll keep telling what happened.”
The hearing on our request for a protective order was set for the following week. Ms. Rivera warned us that Lauren might attend and speak. I thought about the dinner table, her voice rising over Emma's cries.
“I can be there,” I said.
That night, Mom left a voicemail. She had given the investigator her messages with Lauren. She wanted me to know before I heard about them elsewhere.
In one message, Mom had written, Claire is too proud to admit she's struggling. I wish Emma could stay with you until James returns.
I played it again.
Mom sounded as if she might cry.
“I thought I was helping,” she said. “I understand now how much I hurt you.”
I saved the voicemail. I wasn't ready to call back.
The next morning, Ms. Rivera phoned.
“Lauren's attorney has sent over a statement,” she said. “There's something in it you need to see.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What?”
“Lauren says she never intended to take Emma without your consent.”
I looked at the old house key lying in an evidence bag on our counter.
May you like
“Then why did she keep a key?”
“That's exactly what we'll ask,” Ms. Rivera said.
