Chapter 4 - The House of Cards
The police arrived at the Michigan house before the sun had even begun to set. I stayed at the hospital, watching the security footage feed on a tablet Morales had left with me.
The house was a fortress of denial. I watched as my mother opened the door, her face a mask of practiced shock, then her expression hardening into indignation as she realized it wasn't a patrol car—it was the entire investigative unit.
My father stood behind her, his arms crossed, his face a portrait of indignant privilege. He tried to speak, to invoke the names of lawyers, to demand to know by what authority they were entering his home.
The lead officer didn't blink. He simply walked past them, his camera rolling.
I watched as they entered the kitchen. They went straight to the cabinet under the sink where the pans were kept. They found the skillet. It was still damp, smelling of cleaning chemicals, but the forensics team didn't need it to be pristine. They found the patterns of the oils, the remnants of the eggs, and the microscopic traces of skin cells that would link it to Emma.
Then, they went for the devices.
My mother tried to hide her tablet. She slipped it under a pile of mail on the desk, but the officer caught it with a practiced, mocking ease.
They took everything. Every computer, every phone, every laptop.
I watched Vanessa. She was sitting at the kitchen table, her head in her hands, not crying, but shaking. She looked so small, so pathetic, stripped of her position as the favorite, the one who could do no wrong.
Lily was nowhere to be seen. I prayed she was in her room, shielded from the chaos, but I knew my mother. My mother would have had her right there, waiting to be "coached."
"Mom," Vanessa’s voice came over the officer’s bodycam feed. "Did you tell them what happened? Did you tell them about the seat?"
"Be quiet, Vanessa," my mother hissed.
"They're taking the computers, Mom! They're going to see the emails!"
"I said be quiet!"
I set the tablet down. I didn't want to watch them anymore. I had seen enough. The illusion was shattered. The house of cards had fallen, not because of a gust of wind, but because of the weight of the lies they had built it on.
I looked at the doorway. Dr. Chen was standing there, watching me.
"How is she?" I asked.
"Stable," she said. "She’s resting. But she’s going to need surgery. Plastic surgery to graft the skin."
"Will she be okay?"
"She’ll have scars," Chen said, her voice gentle but uncompromising. "But she’s a fighter. And she has a mother who fought for her. That’s the most important thing."
I walked back to Emma’s room. She was small, so small, in the giant bed. The bandages were white, stark, and final. But her chest rose and fell with a steady, peaceful rhythm.
May you like
I pulled a chair up beside her and sat down. My phone was silent for the first time in my life. The block list was full. The world outside was busy tearing down the structures of my past.
I reached out and took Emma’s uninjured hand. I would sit here for as long as it took. I would be the shield. I would be the witness. I would be the one who made sure the truth, and nothing but the truth, was all that mattered.
